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AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS 
/ 




HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 




BOSTON J, L. C. PAGE 
d^> COMPANY J, M D C C C C V 



'3^1^ 



Copyrighty iSgi 

By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 

Copyright^ igoi 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 
) a. 'i- i~ E i^l 

7 P U 



Colonial Press 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 

Boston, Mass.. U. S. A. 



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Co Mv Mo^* 



PREFACE. 



The numerous collections of American verse share, 
I think, one fault in common : they include too much. 
Whether this has been a bid for popularity, a conces- 
sion to Philistia, I cannot say; but the fact remains 
that all anthologies of American poetry are, so far 
as I know, more or less uncritical. The aim of the 
present book is different. In no case has a poem 
been included because it is widely known. The 
purpose of this compilation is solely that of pre- 
serving, in attractive and permanent form, about one 
hundred and sixty of the best lyrics of America. 

I am quite aware of the danger attending such 
exacting honor-rolls. At best, an editor's judgment 
is only personal, and the realization of this fact gives 
me no small diffidence in attempting to decide what 
American lyrics are best worthy of preservation. 
That every reader of the " American Treasur)'^ " will 
find some favorite poem omitted, there can be little 
doubt. But the effort made in this book towards a 

VU 



PREFACE. 

careful estimate of our lyrical poetry is at any rate, I 
feel sure, in a good direction. 

There appear in the index of Mr. Stedman's 
" Poets of America " the names of over three hun- 
dred native writers. American verse in the last half 
century has been extraordinarily prolific. It would 
seem that the time has come, in the course of our 
national literature, for proving all things and holding 
fast that which is good. 

The fact that the title of this compilation instantly 
calls to mind that of Mr. Palgrave's scholarly collec- 
tion of English lyrics need not prove a disadvantage 
to the book if the purpose which led to the choice 
of name is understood. The verse of a single cen- 
tury produced in a new country should not be 
expected to equal the poetic wealth of an old and 
intellectual nation. But if American poetry cannot 
hope to rival the poetry of the mother country, it 
may at least be compared with it; and the fact of 
such a comparative point of view will aid rather than 
hinder the student of our native poetry in estimating 
its value. 

American verse has suffered at the hands both of 
its admirers and its enemies. Injudicious praise, no 
less than supercilious contempt, has reacted unfavor- 
ably on the fame of our poets. Again and again has 
some minor versifier been hailed as the " American 
Keats " or the " American Burns." Really excellent 



PREFACE. 

poets, though distinctly poets of second rank, have 
been elevated amid the blare of critical trumpets to 
the company of Wordsworth and Milton. All this 
is unprofitable and silly. But not much better is the 
attitude of certain critics who patronize everything 
in the English language which has been written out- 
side of England. Though America has added — 
barring Poe and Whitman — no distinctly new notes 
to English poetry, it has added certainly not a few 
true ones. A nation need never apologize for its lit- 
erature when it has produced such lyrics — to go no 
further — as "On a Bust of Dante," " Ichabod," 
" The Chambered Nautilus," and the "Waterfowl." 

My method of arrangement is roughly chronolog- 
ical. The First Book, which is shorter than the 
others, might be called the book of Bryant ; the 
Second, of Longfellow; and the Third, of Al- 
drich. Since the periods must of course overlap, 
this division of the poems can be at most only 
suggestive. 

I have made it no part of my design to grant to 
the better known poets a larger number of lyrics 
than those given later and younger men. I have 
paid no regard to that purely conventional idea of 
proportion, that would assign to five or six writers 
a dozen selections each, and to another set of poets, 
in proportion to their popular fame, half that num- 
ber. We can safely leave the final adjustment of all 

ix 



PREFACE. 

rival claims to Time, the best critic; in the mean- 
while having the more modest aim of selecting, irre- 
spective of contemporary judgments, whatever is best 
suited to our purpose. 

A word more should be said about the title. I have 
not interpreted the term lyric so rigidly as to exclude 
sonnets, ballads, elegiac verse, or even pieces of al- 
most pure description. If I had held to the strictest 
sense of lyric, this book would never have been com- 
piled ; for I suspect nothing will strike the reader 
more forcibly than the fact that, despite the excel- 
lence of the poems included, there is a notable la,ck 
of unconsciousness — of pure singing quality. Such 
things as Pinkney's " Health " and Holmes's " Old 
Ironsides " are the exception. The poems are com- 
posed cleverly, but they do not quite sing themselves 
to their own music. The best American verse, while 
not insincere, is seldom wholly spontaneous. This is 
not saying that much spontaneous verse has not been 
written in this country ; much has been, but the sing- 
er's voice has too often been uncultivated, and the 
product inartistic. 

The names of many popular poets are entirely 
omitted. In no case, however, was this probably due 
to oversight. I have gone over carefully a wide field 
of verse, not without finding much to admire, but 
never quite happening upon that final touch of suc- 
cessful achievement where art and inspiration join. 



PREFACE. 

In the earlier editions of this book, there were no 
selections from Walt Whitman, but after due reflec- 
tion I have thought it best to include several of the 
more lyrical passages from Mr. Whitman's " Leaves 
of Grass." 

I wish to acknowledge various favors kindly shown 
by Professor C. T. Winchester, Professor Barrett Wen- 
dell, and Mr. H. E. Scudder. Thanks are also due 
Mr. T. B. Aldrich for the privilege of including the 
six poems from his pen, which were kindly selected 
for the book by the poet himself. The following 
firms deserve thanks for permitting the use of copy- 
righted poems : 

Houghton^ Mifflin dr" Co. : 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Christopher Pearse 
Cranch, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Annie Adams 
Fields, Louise Imogen Guiney, Francis Bret 
Harte, Oliver Wendell Holmes, William Dean 
Howells, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James 
Russell Lowell, Kate Putnam Osgood, Thomas 
William Parsons, Lizette Woodworth Reese, 
Hiram Rich, Edward Rowland Sill, Harriet 
Prescott Spofford, Edmund Clarence Stedman, 
Bayard Taylor, Edith Matilda Thomas, Henry 
David Thoreau, Maurice Thompson, John 
Greenleaf Whittier, George Edward Woodberry. 
Selections from the works of the foregoing writers 



PREFACE. 

are included " by permission of and by special ar. 
rangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers 
of the works of said authors." 

D. Appleton <2r* Co. : 

Fitz-Greene Halleck, William CuUen Bryant. 

Lee <2r» Shepard : 

Julia Ward Howe. 

Henry T. Coates &' Co. : 

Charles Fenno Hoffman. 

Little, Brown &^ Co. : 

Emily Dickinson, Helen Hunt Jackson, Louise 
Chandler Moulton. 

Small, Maynard ^ Co. : 

John Banister Tabb, Richard Hovey, Bliss 
Carman. 

The Century Co. : 

Richard Watson Gilder, James Whitcomb Riley 
(Poems in the Century Magazine). 

Dana Estes &^ Co. : 
Lloyd Mifflin. 

G. P. Putnam'' s Sons : 

Robert Cameron Rogers. 



PREFACE. 

Charles Scribner's Sons : 

Henry Cu5der Bunner, Eugene Field, Sidney 
Lanier, Richard Henry Stoddard, Henry Van 
Dyke. 

The editor would make personal acknowledgments 
to the following who have given individual per- 
mission to include copyright poems : Mrs. S. P. 
McL. Greene, Miss M. T. Janvier, Mr. W. H. 
Thompson, and Mr. R. C. Rogers. He also wishes 
to thank Mr, Horace Traubel, literary executor of 
Walt Whitman, for the privilege of including the 
extracts from " Leaves of Grass." 



CONTENTS. 



Absence of Little Wesley. 

Aladdin 

Annabel Lee 

Ascent, The 

At Gibraltar 

At Last 

Auspex 

Ballad 

Battle-field, The 

Battle-hymn of the Republi 

Bedouin Song . 

Bereaved . 

Birds 

Black Regiment, The 

Carol of Death, The 

Carolina . 

Chambered Nautilus, The 

Chariot, The 

City in the Sea, The 

Concord Hymn 

Confided . 

Coronation 

Crowded Street, The 

Day is Done, The . 

Days 

Death-bed, A . 

De Sheepfol' . 



. /. W. Riley 
. J. R. Lowell 
. E.A. Poe . 



PACK 

280 
128 



. IV. Whitman 

. G. E. I'l'oodherry 

. R.H. Stoddard . 

. J.R. Lowell 

. H. P. Spofford 

. W. C. Brya7tt 

. J. VV. Howe 

. B. Taylor 

. J. IV. Riley 

. R. H. Stoddard . 

. G. H. Boker 

. W. Whitman 

. H. Tijnrod . 

. O. W. Holmes 

. E. Dickitison 

. E.A. Poe . 

. R. W. Emerson . 

. /. B. Tabb . 

. H. H .Jackson 

. W. C. Bryant 

. H. W. Longfellow 

. R. W. Emerson . 

. J. A Idrich . 

. S. P. McL. Greene 



273 
153 
192 
202 

54 
108 

85 
263 
193 



178 
264 



74 
266 



136 
225 



XV 



CONTENTS. 

Destiny T. B. A Idrick 

Dirge for a Soldier . . , . G. H. Boker 
Discoverer, The . . . .B.C. Stedman 
Driving Home the Cows . . K. P, 

Dutch Lullaby E. Field 

Dying Lover, The .... R. H. Stoddard , 
Eavesdropper, The . . . . B. Car-man . 

Ebb and Flow G. tV. Curtis 

Endymion H. IV. Longfellow 

Estray, The B.F. IVilhon 

Evening Song S. Lanier . 

Eve's Daughter . . . . E. R. Sill . 

Farragut W. T. Meredith . 

Fertility M. Thontpso7i 

Flight, The L.Mifflin . 

Flight of Youth, The . . . R.H. Stoddard . 
Fool's Prayer, The . . . . E. R. Sill . 
Four Winds, The .... C.H.Luders 
Frost . . . . o . . E. M. Thomas 

Future, The E. R.Sill . 

Gondolieds H . H. Jackso7t 

Grizzly F. B. Harte 

Haunted Palace . . . . E.A. Foe . 

Health, A E. C. Pinkney 

Hebe J.R. Lowell 

He Made the Stars Also . . . L. Mifflin . 

Her Epitaph T. W. Parsons 

High Tide at Gettysburg, The . W. H. Thompson 
House of Death, The . . .L.C.Moulton 
Humble-bee, The . . . . R. W. Emerson . 

Hunting Song R.Hovey 

Ichabod J.G. Whittier 

In Absence J. B. Tabb . 

In August W. D. Howells 

Indian Summer . . . . E. Dickinson 

Inspiration H. D. Thoreaii 

In the Hospital . . . . M. W. Howland 

In the Twilight . . . .J.R.Lowell 



PAGE 

. 2IO 

. io6 

. ISO 

. 301 

. 384 

. 127 

. 298 

• 279 
. igo 

• 149 
. 215 

• 247 
. no 
. 294 
. 229 
. 129 
. 205 
. 258 
. 277 
. 219 

• 155 
. 309 
. 26 

12 

. 64 

. 257 

• 147 

• 304 
. 236 
. 169 
. 251 
. 69 
. 267 
. 223 
. 26s 

• 94 
. 122 
. 158 



CONTENTS. 



Israfel 

Jerry an' Me 

June . 

Katie 

Kings, The 

Last Leaf, The 

Little Boy Blue 

Little Wild Baby 

Love in the Winds 

Maryland Yellow-throat, The 

Memory , 

Mood, A . 



My Love . 

My Love for Thee 

My Maryland . 

My Playmate . 

My Strawberry . 

Nature 

Nature 

Night 

No More 

O Captain ! My Captai 

" O Fairest of the Rural Maids 

Old Ironsides . 

Old Oaken Bucket, The 

On a Bust of Dante . 

On an Intaglio Head of Minerva 

On the Death of Joseph Rodman 



My Life is Like the Summer Rose " R. H. Wilde 



. E.A.Poe . 
. H. Rich 
, J. R. Lowell 
. H. Timrod . 
.L.I. Guiney 
. O.W. Holmes 
. E. Field 
. M. T.Janvier 

R. Hovey 
. H. Va7iDyke 
. T.B.Aldrich 

T. B. Aldrich 



Drake 



/. R. Lowell 
R. W. Gilder 
J. R. Randall 
J. G. VVhittier 
H. H.JacksoTi 
H. W. Longfellow 
H. D. Thoreau 
L.Mifflin . 
B. F. IVillson 
IV. IVhitmau 
IV. C. Bryant 
O. W. Holmes 
S. Woodworth 
T. TV. Parsons 
T. B. A Idrich 

F. G. Halle ck 



On the Life-mask of Abraham Lin- 
coln . 
Paradisi Gloria 
Parting 

Poet's Hope, A 
Port of Ships, The 
Prescience 
Raven, The 



R. TV. Gilder 
T. ?r. Parsons 
E. Dickinson 
TV. E. Channing 
C. H. Miller 
T.B.Aldrich 
E.A.Poe . 



275 
162 



95 
231 



272 

287 



130 
167 
63 
166 
256 
197 



185 
248 



199 
221 
45 



CONTENTS. 



Republic, The . 

Return, The 

Rhodora, The . 

Rosary, The 

Secret, The 

Serenade . 

Serenade, A 

Sesostris . 

She Came and Went 

Sigh, A . 

Silence of Love, The 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert 

Skipper Ireson's Ride 

Sleeper, The 

Song . 

Song (In Leinster) 

Song . 

Song . 

Song of Night and Earth, 

Song of the Camp, The 

Song of the Chattahoochee 

Sparkling and Bright 

Stanzas 

Still in Thy Love I Trust 

Strong as Death 

Telling the Bees 

"Thalatta" 

That Day You Came 

Thought . 

Tide Rises, the Tide Falls, 

To a Dead Woman . 

To America 

To a Waterfowl 

To a Young Girl Dying 

To England 

To Helen . 

To One in Paradise . 

To the Dandelion . 



. H . W. Longfellow 
. L. F. Tooker 
. R. W. Emerson . 
. R. C. Rogers 
. G. E. VVpodberry 
. H. W. Longfellow 
. E. C. Finkney 
. L. Mifflin . 
. /. R. Lowell 
. H. P. SpofTord . 
. G. E. Woodberry 
. H. W. Longfellow 
. f. G. Whittier 
. E. A. Foe . 



. R.W. Gilder 
.L.I. Giiiney 
. f. Shaw 
, E. C. Finkney 
. W. Whitman 
. B. Taylor 
. S. Lanier . 
. C. F. Hoffman 
. C. F. Crane h 
.A.A. Fields 
. H. C. Btmner 
. J. G. Whittier 
. J. B. Brown 
. L. W. Reese 
. H. H.fackso7t 
. H . W. Longfellow 
. H. C. Bunner 
. G. H. Boker 
. W. C. Bryant 
. T. W. Farsons 
. G.H. Boker 



E. A . Foe 



. E.A. Foe . 
. J. R. Lowell 



260 
i6s 



196 



71 
87 



224 
180 



79 
3* 



CONTENTS. 



To the Fringed Gentian . . . fV. C. Bryant 

To the Man-of- War-Bird . . . W. Whitman 

To the Past W. C. Bryant 

Toujours Amour . • . . E. C. Stedman 

Triumph H. C. Bunner 

Tropical Morning at Sea, A . . E.R.Sill . 

Under the Violets . . . . O. IV. Holmes 

Unmanifest Destiny . • . R, Hovey 

Vagabond Song, A . . . . B. Carman . 

Valley of Unrest, The . . . E.A. Poe . 

Veery, The H. Van Dyke 

Village Blacksmith, The . . . H. IV. Longfellow 

Waiting /. Burrotighs 

Way to Arcady, The . . . H. C. Bunner 

Were but My Spirit Loosed upon 

the Air L.C. Moult on 

When the Sultan Goes to Ispahan . T. B. Aldrich 

Whip-poor-will, The 

White Jessamine, The 

Wild Honeysuckle, The . 

Woods That Bring the Sunset Near, 

The 

Wreck of the Hesperus, The . 



. H. Van Dyke 
. J. B. Tabb . 
. P. Freneau . 



R. IV. Gilder . 
H. JV. Longfellow 



194 
213 
238 



230 
38 

296 
92 

227 

243 

278 
253 
291 
235 



216 
80 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Frontispiece 
William Cullen Bryant .... 6 

Edgar Allan Poe 34 

James Russell Lo^vell .... 64 

John Greenleaf Whittier ... 70 
Oliver Wendell Holmes .... 76 

Bayard Taylor ...... 86 

Henry David Thoreau .... 94 

Julia Ward Howe 108 

Ralph Waldo Emerson . . . .126 
Richard Henry Stoddard . . . 129 

Thomas William Parsons .... 148 
Helen Hunt Jackson . . . .168 

Walt Whitman 172 

Edmund Clarence Stedman . . .188 
Harriet Prescott Spofford . . .196 

CiNCINNATUS HiNER (JOAQUIN) MiLLER . 200 

Louise Imogen Guiney . . . .212 
William Dean Howells 
Richard Watson Gilder . 



223 

228 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

Louise Chandler Moulton . . . 236 

Henry Cuyler Bunner .... 244 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich .... 248 

Lloyd Mifflin 256 

John Banister Tabb 266 

Richard Hovey 272 

James Whitcomb Riley . . . . 280 

Eugene Field 284 

Henry Van Dyke 292 

Bliss Carman 298 

Francis Bret Harte 309 



BOOK FIRST„ 



American Songs and Lyrics. 



$9e Wifb Igonet^sucftfe. 

■ppAIR flower, that dost so comely grow, 
Hid in this silent, dull retreat, 

Untouched thy honey 'd blossoms blow. 
Unseen thy little branches greet ; 

No roving foot shall crush thee here, 
No busy hand provoke a tear. 

By Nature's self in white arrayed. 

She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, 
And planted here the guardian shade, 
And sent soft waters murmuring by ; 
Thus quietly thy summer goes, — 
Thy days declining to repose. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Smit with those charms, that must decay, 

I grieve to see your future doom ; 
They died — nor were those flowers more gay - 
The flowers that did in Eden bloom ; 
Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power 
Shall leave no vestige of this flower. 

From morning suns and evening dews 

At first thy little being came ; 
If nothing once, you nothing lose. 
For when you die you are the same ; 
The space between is but an hour, 
The frail duration of a flower. 

P. Freneau. 



SONG. 



AITHO has robbed the ocean cave, 

To tinge thy lips with coral hue ? 
Who from India's distant wave 

For thee those pearly treasures drew ? 
Who from yonder orient sky 
Stole the morning of thine eye ? 

Thousand charms, thy form to deck, 

From sea, and earth, and air are torn ; 
Roses bloom upon thy cheek, 

On thy breath their fragrance borne. 
Guard thy bosom from the day, 
Lest thy snows should melt away. 

But one charm remains behind, 

Which mute earth can ne'er impart ; 
Nor in ocean wilt thou find, 
Nor in the circling air, a heart. 
Fairest ! wouldst thou perfect be, 
Take, oh, take that heart from me. 

J. Shaw, 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



TWr Y life is like the summer rose 

That opens to the morning sky, 
But ere the shades of evening close, 

Is scattered on the ground — to die ! 
Yet on the rose's humble bed 
The sweetest dews of night are shed. 
As if she wept the waste to see, — 
But none shall weep a tear for me ! 

My life is like the autumn leaf 

That trembles in the moon's pale ray ; 
Its hold is frail, — its date is brief, 

Restless, — and soon to pass away ! 
Yet ere that leaf shall fall and fade. 
The parent tree will mourn its shade, 
The winds bewail the leafless tree, — 
But none shall breathe a sigh for me ! 

My life is like the prints which feet 
Have left on Tampa's desert strand ; 

Soon as the rising tide shall beat, 
All trace will vanish from the sand ; 



"MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE." 

Yet, as if grieving to efface 

All vestige of the human race, 

On that lone shore loud moans the sea, — 

But none, alas ! shall mourn for me ! 

R. H. Wilde. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



*45 S^itest of f^e (gmaf (States!" 

r\ FAIREST of the rural maids ! 

Thy birth was in the forest shades ; 
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, 
Were all that met thine infant eye. 

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, 
Were ever in the sylvan wild ; 
And all the beauty of the place 
Is in thy heart and on thy face. 

The twilight of the trees and rocks 
Is in the light shade of thy locks; 
Thy step is as the wind, that weaves 
Its playful way among the leaves. 

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene 
And silent waters heaven is seen ; 
Their lashes are the herbs that look 
On their young figures in the brook. 




WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 



«0 FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS!" 

The forest depths, by foot unpressed, 
Are not more sinless than thy breast ; 
The holy peace that fills the air 
Of those calm solitudes is there. 

W. C. Bryant 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



TTOW dear to this heart are the scenes of my 
childhood, 

When fond recollection presents them to view ! — 

The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild- 
wood. 

And every loved spot which my infancy knew ! 

The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood 
by it; 

The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; 

The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it ; 

And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well, — 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. 

That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure ; 
For often at noon, when returned from the field, 
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, — 
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glow- 
ing, 
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ! 
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, 
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well, — 

8 



THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 



The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it, 

As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! 

Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave 

it, 
The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. 
And now, far removed from the loved habitation, 
The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation. 
And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well, — - 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well. 

S. WOODWORTH. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T T was many and many a year ago, 

In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought 

Than to love and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child. 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
But we loved with a love that was more than love, 

I and my Annabel Lee ; 
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 

My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
So that her highborn kinsmen came 

And bore her away from me. 
To shut her up in a sepulchre 

In this kingdom by the sea. 



ANNABEL LEE. 



The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me ; 
Yes, that was the reason (as all men know, 

In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night. 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we, 

Of many far wiser than we ; 
And neither the angels in heaven above. 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 

For the moon never beams, without bringing m.e 
dreams 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
Of my darling, — my darling, — my life and my bride. 

In her sepulchre there by the sea. 

In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

E. A. PoE. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T FILL this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, — 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon ; 
To whom the better elements 

And kindly stars have given 
A form so fair, that, like the air, 

'Tis less of earth than heaven. 

Her every tone is music's own, 

Like those of morning birds ; 
And something more than melody 

Dwells ever in her words ; 
The coinage of her heart are they. 

And from her lips each flows 
As one may see the burden'd bee 

Forth issue from the rose. 

Affections are as thoughts to her, 
The measures of her hours ; 

Her feelings have the fragrancy, 
The freshness of young flowers ; 



A HEALTH. 

And lovely passions, changing oft, 

So fill her, she appears 
The image of themselves by turns, — 

The idol of past years ! 

Of her bright face one glance will trace 

A picture on the brain ; 
And of her voice in echoing hearts 

A sound must long remain ; 
But memory, such as mine of her, 

So very much endears. 
When death is nigh, my latest sigh 

Will not be life's, but hers. 

I fill this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, — 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon. 
Her health ! and would on earth there stood 

Some more of such a frame, 
That life might be all poetry. 

And weariness a name. 

E. C. PiNKNEY. 



13 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T OOK out upon the stars, my love, 

And shame them with thine eyes, 
On which, than on the lights above, 

There hang more destinies. 
Night's beauty is the harmony 

Of blending shades and light : 
Then, lady, up, — look out, and be 

A sister to the night ! 

Sleep not ! — thine image wakes for aye 

Within my watching breast ; 
Sleep not ! — from her soft sleep should fly, 

Who robs all hearts of rest. 
Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break. 

And make this darkness gay. 
With looks whose brightness well might make 

Of darker nights a day. 

E. C, PiNKNEY. 



14 



THE CITY IN THE SEA. 



$0e Citt m t^e ^ea. 

T O ! Death has reared himself a throne 

In a strange city lying alone 
Far down within the dim West, 
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the 

best 
Have gone to their eternal rest. 
There shrines and palaces and towers 
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not) 
Resemble nothing that is ours. 
Around, by lifting winds forgot, 
Resignedly beneath the sky 
The melancholy waters lie. 

No rays from the holy heaven come down 

On the long night-time of that town ; 

But light from out the lurid sea 

Streams up the turrets silently. 

Gleams up the pinnacles far and free : 

Up domes, up spires, up kingly halls, 

Up fanes, up Babylon-like walls. 

Up shadowy, long-forgotten bowers ' 

Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers, 

15 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Up many and many a marvellous shrine, 
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine 
The viol, the violet, and the vine. 

Resignedly beneath the sky 

The melancholy waters lie. 

So blend the turrets and shadows there 

That all seem pendulous in air, 

While from a proud tower in the town 

Death looks gigantically down. 

There open fanes and gaping graves 

Yawn level with the luminous waves ; 

But not the riches there that lie 

In each idol's diamond eye, — 

Not the gaily-jewelled dead 

Tempt the waters from their bed ; 

For no ripples curl, alas, 

Along that wilderness of glass ; 

No swellings tell that winds may be 

Upon some far-off happier sea ; 

No heavings hint that winds have been 

On seas less hideously serene ! 

But lo, a stir is in the air ! 

The wave — there is a movement there ! 

i6 



THE CITY IN THE SEA. 

As if the towers had thrust aside, 
In slightly sinking, the dull tide ; 
As if their tops had feebly given 
A void within the filmy Heaven ! 
The waves have now a redder glow. 
The hours are breathing faint and low ; 
And when, amid no earthly moans, 
Down, down that town shall settle hence, 
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones. 
Shall do it reverence. 

E. A. PoE. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



to t0e ^agl 



Thou unrelenting Past ! 
Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, 

And fetters, sure and fast, 
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 

Far in thy realm withdrawn, 
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, 

And glorious ages gone 
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 

Childhood, with all its mirth, 
Youth, Manhood, Age that draws us to the ground, 

And last, Man's Life on earth. 
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 

Thou hast my better years ; 
Thou hast my earlier friends, the good, the kind, 

Yielded to thee with tears, — 
The venerable form, the exalted mind. 

My spirit yearns to bring 
The lost ones back, — yearns with desire intense, 



TO THE PAST. 

And struggles hard to wring 
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. 

In vain ; thy gates deny 
All passage save to those who hence depart ; 

Nor to the streaming eye 
Thou giv'st them back, — nor to the broken heart. 

In thy abysses hide 
Beauty and excellence unknown ; to thee 

Earth's wonder and her pride 
Are gathered, as the waters to the sea ; 

Labors of good to man, 
Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, 

Love, that midst grief began. 
And grew with years, and faltered not in death. 

Full many a mighty name 
Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered ; 

With thee are silent fame. 
Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. 

Thine for a space are they, — 
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last ! 

Thy gates shall yet give way, 
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past ! 



19 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

All that of good and fair 
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, 

Shall then come forth, to wear 
The glory and the beauty of its prime. 

They have not perished, — no ! 
Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, 

Smiles, radiant long ago. 
And features, the great soul's apparent seat ; 

All shall come back, each tie 
Of pure affection shall be knit again ; 

Alone shall Evil die, 
And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. 

And then shall I behold 
Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung, 

And her, who, still and cold, 
Fills the next grave, — the beautiful and young. 
W. C. Bryant. 




iSRAFEL. 



3stafef. 



And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the 
sweetest voice of all God's creatures. 

— Koran. 

T N Heaven a spirit doth dwell 

Whose heart-strings are a lute ; 
None sing so wildly well 
As the angel Israfel, 
And the giddy stars (so legends tell), 
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell 
Of his voice, all mute. 

Tottering above 

In her highest noon, 

The enamored moon 
Blushes with love, 

While, to listen, the red levin 

(With the rapid Pleiads, even, 

Which were seven) 

Pauses in Heaven. 

And they say (the starry choir 
And the other listening things) 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

That Israfeli's fire 
Is owing to that lyre 

By which he sits and sings, — 
The trembling living wire 
Of those unusual strings. 

But the skies that angel trod, 
Where deep thoughts are a duty. 

Where Love's a grown-up God, 

Where the Houri glances are 
Imbued with all the beauty 

Which we worship in a star. 

Therefore thou art not wrong, 

Israfeli, who despisest 
An unimpassioned song ; 
To thee the laurels belong, 

Best bard, because the wisest : 
Merrily live, and long ! 

The ecstasies above 

With thy burning measures suit : 

Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, 
With the fervor of thy lute : 
Well may the str.rs be mute ! 



ISRAFEL. 



Yes, Heaven is thine ; but this 
Is a world of sweets and sours ; 
Our flowers are merely — flowers, 

And the shadow of thy perfect bliss 
Is the sunshine of ours. 

If I could dwell 
Where Israfel 

Hath dwelt, and he where I, 
He might not sing so wildly well 

A mortal melody. 
While a bolder note than this might swell 

From my lyre within the sky. 

E. A. POE. 



*3 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



(^ TIME ! O Death ! I clasp you in my arms, 

For I can soothe an infinite cold sorrow, 
And gaze contented on your icy charms 

And that wild snow-pile which we call to-morro-v ; 
Sweep on, O soft and azure-lidded sky, 
Earth's waters to your gentle gaze reply. 

I am not earth-born, though I here delay ; 

Hope's child, I summon infiniter powers, 
And laugh to see the mild and sunny day 

Smile on the shrunk and thin autumnal hours ; 
I laugh, for hope hath happy place with me, — 
If my bark sinks, 'tis to another sea. 

W. E. Channino 



SONG. 



Y\7E break the glass, whose sacred wine 

To some beloved health we drain, 
Lest future pledges, less divine, 

Should e'er the hallowed toy profane ; 
And thus I broke a heart that poured 

Its tide of feelings out for thee, 
In draughts, by after-times deplored, 

Yet dear to memory. 

But still the old, impassioned ways 

And habits of my mind remain, 
And still unhappy light displays 

Thine image chambered in my brain. 
And still it looks as when the hours 

Went by like flights of singing birds, 
Or that soft chain of spoken flowers 

And airy gems, — thy words. 

E. C, PiNKNEY. 



25 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T N the greenest of our valleys 

By good angels tenanted, 
Once a fair and stately palace — 

Radiant palace — reared its head. 
In the monarch Thought's dominion, 

It stood there ; 
Never seraph spread a pinion 

Over fabric half so fair. 

Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 

On its roof did float and flow 
(This — all this — was in the olden 

Time long ago), 
And every gentle air that dallied, 

In that sweet day, 
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 

A winged odor went away. 

Wanderers in that happy valley 

Through two luminous windows saw 

Spirits moving musically, 
To a lute's well-tun^d law, 

26 



THE HAUNTED PALACE. 



Round about a throne where, sitting, 

Porphyrogene, 
In state his glory well befitting, 

The ruler of the realm was seen. 

And all with pearl and ruby glowing 

Was the fair palace door, 
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowii 

And sparkhng evermore, 
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty 

Was but to sing. 
In voices of surpassing beauty. 

The wit and wisdom of their king. 

But evil things, in robes of sorrow. 

Assailed the monarch's high estate; 
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow 

Shall dawn upon him desolate ! ) 
And round about his home the glory 

That blushed and bloomed 
Is but a dim-remembered story 

Of the old time entombed. 

And travellers now within that valley 
Through the red-litten windows see 

Vast forms that move fantastically 
To a discordant melody ; 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

While, like a ghastly rapid river, 

Through the pale door 
A hideous throng rush out forever. 

And laugh — but smile no more. 

E. A. PoE. 



28 




TO A WATERFOWL. / 

to a Watetfoi^f. S/)</C\A 

Whither, midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way ? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide. 
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean-side ? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — 
The desert and illimitable air — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

29 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given. 

And shall not soon depart : 

He who, from zone to zone. 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright. 

W. C. Bryant. 



TO HELEN. 



to f^dcn. 



TT ELEN, thy beauty is to me 

Like those Nicaean barks of yore, 
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, 

The weary, wayworn wanderer bore 

To his own native shore. 



On desperate seas long wont to roam, 
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face. 

Thy Naiad airs, have brought me home 
To the glory that was Greece 

And the grandeur that was Rome. 

Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche 
How statue-like I see thee stand, 
The agate lamp within thy hand ■ 

Ah, Psyche, from the regions which 
Are Holy Land ! 

E. A. PoE« 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



C PARKLING and bright in liquid light 
Does the wine our goblets gleam in, 
With hue as red as the rosy bed 

Which a bee would choose to dream in. 
Then fill to-night, with hearts as light, 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, 
And break on the lips while meeting. 

Oh ! if Mirth might arrest the flight 

Of Time through Life's dominions, 
We here awhile would now beguile 
The graybeard of his pinions, 

To drink to-night, with hearts as light, 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim. 
And break on the lips while meeting. 

But since Delight can't tempt the wight, 

Nor fond Regret delay him. 
Nor Love himself can hold the elf, 

Nor sober Friendship stay him. 



SPARKLING AND BRIGHT. 

We'll drink to-night, with hearts as light, 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, 

And break on the lips while meeting. 

C. F. HOFFMANo 



33 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



€o dne in ^axcibm. 

npHOU wast all that to me, love, 
For which my soul did pine : 
A green isle in the sea, love, 

A fountain and a shrine 
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers. 

And all the flowers were mine. 

Ah, dream too bright to last ! 

Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise 
But to be overcast ! 

A voice from out the Future cries, 
" On ! on ! " — but o'er the Past 

(Dim gulf ! ) my spirit hovering lies 
Mute, motionless, aghast. 

For, alas ! alas ! with me 

The light of Life is o'er ! 

No more — no more — no more — 
(Such language holds the solemn sea 

To the sands upon the shore) 
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, 

Or the stricken eagle soar. 



34 




EDGAR ALLAN POE 



TO ONE IN PARADISE. 

And all my days are trances, 

And all my nightly dreams 
Are where thy dark eye glances, 

And where thy footstep gleams, — 
In what ethereal dances, 

By what eternal streams. 

E. A. PoE. 



<3S' 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



fyn i^t ®eaf5 of ^oztip^ (^"^mMt 

/^ KEEN be the turf above thee, 

Friend of my better days ! 
None knew thee but to love thee, 
Nor named thee but to praise. 

Tears fell when thou wert dying, 

From eyes unused to weep. 
And long, where thou art lying, 

Will tears the cold turf steep. 

When hearts, whose truth was proven, 

Like thine, are laid in earth. 
There should a wreath be woven 

To tell the world their worth ; 

And I, who woke each morrow 

To clasp thy hand in mine, 
Who shared thy joy and sorrow. 

Whose weal and woe were thine, 



36 



THE DEATH OF JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 



It should be mine to braid it 

Around thy faded brow, 
But I've in vain essayed it, 

And feel I cannot now. 

While memory bids me weep thee. 
Nor thoughts nor words are free, 

The grief is fixed too deeply 
That mourns a man like thee. 

F. G. Halleck. 



37 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



t^c ^afU^ of (JJnresl 

/^NCE it smiled a silent dell 

Where the people did not dwell ; 
They had gone unto the wars, 
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars, 
Nightly, from their azure towers, 
To keep watch above the flowers, 
In the midst of which all day 
The red sunlight lazily lay. 
Now each visitor shall confess 
The sad valley's restlessness. 
Nothing there is motionless, 
Nothing save the airs that brood 
Over the magic solitude. 
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees 
That palpitate like the chill seas 
Around the misty Hebrides ! 
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven 
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven 
Uneasily, from morn to even, 
Over the violets there that lie 
In myriad types of the human eye, 
Over the lilies there that wave 
And weep above a nameless grave ! 

38 



THE VALLEY OF UNREST. 

They wave : — from out their fragrant tops 
Eternal dews come down in drops. 
They weep : — from off their delicate stems 
Perennial tears descend in gems. 

E. A. PoE. 



39 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 




npHOU blossom bright with autumn dew, 

And colored with the heaven's own blue, 
That openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night : 



Thou comest not when violets lean 
O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
Or columbines, in purple dressed. 
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. 

Thou waitest late and com'st alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown. 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky. 
Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean wall. 



TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 

I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart. 

W. C. Bryant. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



$9e Ctoiobeb ^ttut 

T ET me move slowly through the street, 

Filled with an ever-shifting train, 
Amid the sound of steps that beat 

The murmuring walks like autumn rain. 

How fast the flitting figures come ! 

The mild, the fierce, the stony face, — 
Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some 

Where secret tears have left their trace. 

They pass — to toil, to strife, to rest ; 

To halk in which the feast is spread ; 
To chambers where the funeral guest 

In silence sits beside the dead. 

And some to happy homes repair, 

Where children, pressing cheek to cheek, 

With mute caresses shall declare 
The tenderness they cannot speak. 

And some, who walk in calmness here, 
Shall shudder as they reach the door 



42 



THE CROWDED STREET. 

Where one who made their dwelling dear, 
Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 

Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame. 
And dreams of greatness in thine eye ! 

Go'st thou to build an early name, 
Or early in the task to die ? 

Keen son of trade, with eager brow ! 

Who is now fluttering in thy snare ? 
Thy golden fortunes, tower they now. 

Or melt the glittering spires in air ? 

Who of this crowd to-night shall tread 
The dance till daylight gleam again ? 

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? 
Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ? 

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long 
The cold, dark hours, how slow the light ; 

And some, who flaunt amid the throng, 
Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. 

Each where his tasks or pleasures call. 
They pass, and heed each other not. 

There is who heeds, who holds them all 
In His large love and boundless thought. 

43 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

These struggling tides of life, that seem 
In wayward, aimless course to tend, 

Are eddies of the mighty stream 
That rolls to its appointed end. 

W. C. Bryant. 



THE RAVEN. 



/^NCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 

weak and wear}^, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten 

lore, — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came 

a tapping. 
As of some one gently rapping — rapping at my 

chamber door. 
«'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my 

chamber door, — 

Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak De- 
cember, 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost 
upon the floor. 

Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought 
to borrow 

From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the 
lost Lenore, — 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels 
name Lenore, — 

Nameless here forevermore. 



45 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple 

curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never 

felt before ; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood 

repeating 
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber 

door, — 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber 

door ; — 

This it is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no 

longer, 
" Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness 

I implore; 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you 

came rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping — -tapping at my 

chamber door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you ; " — here I opened 

wide the door : — 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there 
wondering, fearing, 

46 



THE RAVEN. 



Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared 

to dream before ; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave 

no token, 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered 

word, " Lenore ? " 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the 

word, " Lenore : " 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within 

me burning. 
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than 

before. 
" Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my 

window lattice ; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery 

explore, — 
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery 

explore ; — 

'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a 

flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days 

of yore. 

4? 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS.' 

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute 
stopped or stayed he; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my 
chamber door — 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my cham- 
ber door — 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into 
smiling 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance 
it wore, 

" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I 
said, "art sure no craven. 

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the 
Nightly shore, — 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plu- 
tonian shore ! " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear dis' 

course so plainly. 
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy 

bore; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human 

being 

48 



THE RAVEN. 



Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his cham- 
ber door — 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his 
chamber door, 

With such name as " Nevermore." 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, 

spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did 

outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered — not a feather 

then he fluttered — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends 

have flown before — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have 

flown before." 

Then the bird said, " Nevermore." 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly 

spoken, 
" Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock 

and store, 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful 

Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one 

burden bore, — 

49 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden 
bore 

Of ' Never — nevermore.' " 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into 

smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird 

and bust and door ; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to 

linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird 

of yore — 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous 

bird of yore 

Meant in croaking " Nevermore." 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable 

expressing 
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my 

bosom's core ; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease 

reclining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight 

gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight 

gloating o'er 

She shall press, ah, nevermore I 

SO 



THE RAVEN. 



Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed 

from an unseen censer 
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the 

tufted floor. 
" Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath lent thee — by 

these angels He hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories 

of Lenore ! 
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this 

lost Lenore ! " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, 

if bird or devil ! — 
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed 

thee here ashore. 
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land 

enchanted — 
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, " 

I implore, — 
Is there, — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell 

me, I implore ! " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 

" Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if 
bird or devil ! 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God 

we both adore — 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant 

Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels 

name Lenore — 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels 

name Lenore." 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " 

I shrieked, upstarting, — 
" Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's 

Plutonian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul 

hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above 

my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form 

from off my door ! " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is 

sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber 

door: 



52 



i 



THE RAVEN. 



And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that 

is dreaming, 
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his 

shadow on the floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating 
on the floor 

Shall be lifted, — nevermore ! 

E. A. POE. 



53 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



epe QSaftfe^ftefb. 

/^NCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, 
And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle-cloud. 

Ah ! never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave, — 
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, 

Upon the soil they fought to save. 

Now all is calm and fresh and still ; 

Alone the chirp of flitting bird. 
And talk of children on the hill. 

And bell of wandering kine are heard. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain ; 
Men start not at the battle-cry ; 

Oh, be it never heard again ! 

Soon rested those who fought ; but thou 
Who minglest in the harder strife 



54. 



THE BATTLE-FIELD. 

For truths which men receive not now, 
Thy warfare only ends with life. 

A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Through weary day and weary year ; 

A wild and many-weaponed throng 
Hang on thy front and flank and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, 
And blench not at thy chosen lot ; 

The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may frown, — yet faint thou not • 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, 
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn, 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again ; \ 

The eternal years of God are hers ; I 

But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, : 

And dies among his worshippers. '' 

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, 

When they who helped thee flee in fear, 

Die full of hope and manly trust. 
Like those who fe!! in battle here. 



55 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
Another hand the standard wave, 

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave, 

W. C. Bryant. 



56 



THE SLEEPER. 



A T midnight, in the month of June, 
I stand beneath the mystic moon. 
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, 
Exhales from out her golden rim. 
And, softly dripping, drop by drop, 
Upon the quiet mountain-top, 
Steals drowsily and musically 
Into the universal valley. 
The rosemary nods upon the grave? 
The lily lolls upon the wave ; 
Wrapping the fog about its breast, 
The ruin moulders into rest ; 
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake 
A conscious slumber seems to take, 
And would not, for the world, awake. 
All beauty sleeps ! — and lo ! where lies 
Irene, with her destinies ! 

O lady bright ! can it be right, 
This window open to the night? 
The wanton airs from the tree-top 
Laughingly through the lattice drop ; 

57 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, 

Flit through thy chamber in and out, 

And wave the curtain canopy 

So fitfully, so fearfully, 

Above the closed and fringed lid 

'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid. 

That, o'er the floor and down the wall, 

Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall. 

lady dear, hast thou no fear? 

Why and what art thou dreaming here ? 
Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, 
A wonder to these garden trees ! 
Strange is thy pallor ; strange thy dress ; 
Strange, above all, thy length of tress, 
And this all solemn silentness ! 

The lady sleeps. Oh, may her sleep, 
Which is enduring, so be deep ! 
Heaven have her in its sacred keep ! 
This chamber changed for one more holy^ 
This bed for one more melancholy, 

1 pray to God that she may lie 
Forever with unopened eye, 

While the pale sheeted ghosts go by. 

My love, she sleeps. Oh, may her sleep, 
As it is lasting, so be deep ! 

58 



THE SLEEPER. 

Soft may the worms about her creep I 
Far in the forest, dim and old, 
For her may some tall vault unfold : 
Some vault that oft hath flung its black 
And winged panels fluttering back, 
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls 
Of her grand family funerals ; 
Some sepulchre, remote, alone, 
Against whose portal she hath thrown, 
In childhood, many an idle stone ; 
Some tomb from out whose sounding door 
She ne'er shall force an echo more, 
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin, 
It was the dead who groaned within ! 

E. A. PoE. 



59 



BOOK SECOND. 



NATURE. 



A S a fond mother, when the day is o'er, 

Leads by the hand her little child to bed, 
Half willing, half reluctant to be led, 
And leave his broken playthings on the floor, 
Still gazing at them through the open door, 
Nor wholly reassured and comforted 
By promises of others in their stead, 
Which, though more splendid, may not please him 

more, — 
So Nature deals with us, and takes away 
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand 
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go 
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, 
Being too full of sleep to understand 

How far the unknown transcends the what we 
know. 

H. W. Longfellow. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



I SAW the twinkle of white feet, 
I saw the flash of robes descending ; 

Before her ran an influence fleet, 
That bowed my heart like barley bending. 

As, in bare fields, the searching bees 
Pilot to blooms beyond our finding, 

It led me on, by sweet degrees 
Joy's simple honey-cells unbinding. 

Those Graces were that seemed grim Fates ; 
With nearer love the sky leaned o'er me ; 

The long-sought Secret's golden gates 
On musical hinges swung before me. 

I saw the brimmed bowl in her grasp 
Thrilling with godhood ; like a lover 

I sprang the proffered life to clasp ; — 
The beaker fell ; the luck was over. 

The Earth has drunk the vintage up ; 
What boots it patch the goblet's splinters ? 

Can Summer fill the icy cup. 
Whose treacherous crystal is but Winter's ? 

64 




JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 



HEBE. 

O spendthrift haste ! await the Gods ; 
Their nectar crowns the lips of Patience ; 

Haste scatters on unthankful sods 
The immortal gift in vain libations. 

Coy Hebe flies from those that woo, 
And shuns the hands would seize upon her ; 

Follow thy life, and she will sue 
To pour for thee the cup of honor. 

J. R. Lowell. 



«$ 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



^9e %at is ©one. 

'T^HE day is done, and the darkness 

Falls from the wings of Night, 
As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 

That my soul cannot resist : 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem. 
Some simple and heartfelt lay. 

That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters, 
Not from the bards sublime, 

66 



I 



THE DAY IS DONE. 



Whose distant footsteps echo 
Through the corridors of Time. 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 

Life's endless toil and endeavor; 
And to-night I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet, 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start ; 

Who, through long days of labor, 

And nights devoid of ease. 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care. 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

67 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares that infest the day 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 

H. W. Longfellow. 



68 



ICHABOD. 



Jc^afiob. 



CO fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn 

Which once he wore ! 
The glory from his gray hairs gone 
Forevermore ! 



Revile him not, — the Tempter hath 

A snare for all ; 
And pitying tears, not scorn and wratb, 

Befit his fall ! 

Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage, 

When he who might 
Have lighted up and led his age, 

Falls back in night. 

Scorn ! would the angels laugh, to mark 

A bright soul driven. 
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, 

From hope and heaven ! 

Let not the land once proud of him 
Insult him now, 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, 
Dishonored brow. 

But let its humbled sons, instead, 

From sea to lake, 
A long lament, as for the dead. 

In sadness make. 

Of all we loved and honored, naught 

Save power remains, — 
A fallen angel's pride of thought, 

Still strong in chains. 

All else is gone ; from those great eyes 

The soul has fled : 
When faith is lost, when honor dies, 

The man is dead ! 

Then, pay the reverence of old days 

To his dead fame ; 
Walk backward, with averted gaze. 

And hide the shame ! 

J. G. Whittikr. 



70 




JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 



^it ^rxmp^ni^ (Biffietf. 

O OUTHWARD with fleet of ice 

Sailed the corsair Death; 
Wild and fast blew the blast, 

And the east-wind was his breath. 

His lordly ships of ice 

Glisten in the sun ; 
On each side, like pennons wide, 

Flashing crystal streamlets run. 

His sails of white sea-mist 

Dripped with silver rain ; 
But where he passed there were cast 

Leaden shadows o'er the main. 

Eastward from Campobello 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; 

Three days or more seaward he bore, 
Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. 

Alas ! the land-wind failed, 
And ice-cold grew the night ; 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

And nevermore, on sea or shore, 
Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 

He sat upon the deck, 

The Book was in his hand ; 
" Do not fear ! Heaven is as near," 

He said, " by water as by land ! " 

In the first watch of the night, 

Without a signal's sound, 
Out of the sea, mysteriously, 

The fleet of Death rose all around. 

The moon and the evening star 
Were hanging in the shrouds ; 

Every mast, as it passed. 

Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 

They grappled with their prize. 
At midnight black and cold ! 

As of a rock was the shock ; 
Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 

Southward through day and dark. 
They drift in close embrace. 

With mist and rain, o'er the open main ; 
Yet there seems no change of place. 

72 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 

Southward, forever southward, 
They drift through dark and day ; 

And like a dream, in the Gulf Stream 
Sinking, vanish all away. 

H. W. Longfellow. 



73 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Sung at the completion of the Battle Monument, 
April 19, 1836. 

T) Y the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 
Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

The foe long since in silence slept ; 

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creej^a 

On this green bank, by this soft stream, 

We set to-day a votive stone, 
That memory may their deed redeem. 

When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit, that made those heroes dare 
To die, and leave their children free, 

Bid Time and Nature gently spare 
The shatt we raise to them and thee. 

R. W. Emerson. 



.24 



TO AMERICA. 



^1 fHAT, cringe to Europe ! Band it all in one, 
Stilt its decrepit strength, renew its age, 

Wipe out its debts, contract a loan to wage 
Its venal battles, — and, by yon bright sun, 
Our God is false, and liberty undone. 

If slaves have power to win your heritage ! 

Look on your country, God's appointed stage, 
Where man's vast mind its boundless course shall 

run: 
For that it was your stormy coast He spread — 

A fear in winter ; girded you about 
With granite hills, and made you strong and dread. 

Let him who fears before the foemen shout, 
Or gives an inch before a vein has bled, 

Turn on himself, and let the traitor out ! 

G. H. BOKER. 



n 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



4Xb 3tonsibe0« 

A Y, tear her tattered ensign down I 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky ; 
Beneath it rung the battle shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar ; — ^ ^ 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more. 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 

Where knelt the vanquished foe. 
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 

And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread. 

Or know the conquered knee ; 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 

The eagle of the sea ! 

Oh, better that her shattered hulk 
Should sink beneath the wave ! 

Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 
And there should be her grave ; 

76 




OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 



OLD IRONSIDES. 

Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms, 

The lightning, and the gale ! 

O. W. Holmes. 



?7 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



to (gn^fanb. 
I. 

T EAR and Cordelia ! 'twas an ancient tale 

Before thy Shakespeare gave it deathless fame ; 

The times have changed, the moral is the same. 
So like an outcast, dowerless and pale, 
Thy daughter went ; and in a foreign gale 

Spread her young banner, tillits sway became 

A wonder to the nations. Days of shame 
Are close upon thee ; prophets raise their wail. 
When the rude Cossack with an outstretched hand 

Points his long spear across the narrow sea, — 

" Lo ! there is England ! " when thy destiny 
Storms on thy straw-crowned head, and thou dost 

stand 
Weak, helpless, mad, a by-word in the land, — - 

God grant thy daughter a Cordelia be ! 
[1852.] 

II. 
Stand, thou great bulwark of man's liberty ! 

Thou rock of shelter, rising from the wave, 

Sole refuge to the overwearied brave 
Who planned, arose, and battled to be free. 
Fell, undeterred, then sadly turned to thee, — - 

78 



TO ENGLAND. 

Saved the free spirit from their country's grave, 

To rise again, and animate the slave, 
When God shall ripen all things. Britons, ye 
Who guard the sacred outpost, not in vain 

Hold your proud peril ! Freemen undefiled, 

Keep watch and ward ! Let battlements be piled 
Around your cliffs ; fleets marshalled, till the main 
Sink under them ; and if your courage wane. 

Through force or fraud, look westward to your 
child ! 
[1853.] G. H. BOKER. 



79 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



$Pe 'Wrecft of i^c ^e&pcttxB. 

T T was the schooner Hesperus, 
That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter. 
To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds. 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

His pipe was in his mouth, 
And he watched how the veering flav/ did blow 

The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 

Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 
" I pray thee, put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. 

" Last night, the moon had a golden ring, 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 

80 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 



The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the Northeast, 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to tlie mast. 

" O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

Oh, say, what may it be ? " 
" 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " — 

And he steered for the open sea. 

8i 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



" O father! I hear the sound of guns, 

Oh, say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 

" O father ! I see a gleaming light, 

" Oh, say, what may it be ? " 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark. 

With his face turned to the skies, 
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 

On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drenr, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow. 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 
A sound came from the land ; 

82 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 



It was the sound of the trampling surf 
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool. 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair. 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

83 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow ! 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 

H. W. Longfellow. 



BEDOUIN SONG. 



®eboutn ^ong» 



T^ROM the Desert I come to thee 

On a stallion shod with fire , 
And the winds are left behind 

In the speed of my desire. 
Under thy window I stand, 

And the midnight hears my cry : 
I love thee, I love but thee, 
With a love that shall not die 
Till the sun grows cold, 
And the stars are old, 
And the leaves of the Judgment 
Book unfold ! 

Look from thy window and see 

My passion and my pain ; 
I lie on the sands below, 

And I faint in thy disdain. 
Let the night-winds touch thy brow 

With the heat of my burning sigh, 
And melt thee to hear the vow 

Of a love that shall not die 

85 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Till the sun grows cold^ 
And the stars are old. 
And the leaves of the Judg7}ieiit 
Book unfold! 

My steps are nightly driven, 
By the fever in my breast, 
To hear from thy lattice breathed 

The word that shall give me rest. 
Open the door of thy heart, 

And open thy chamber door, 
And my kisses shall teach thy lips 
The love that shall fade no more 
Till the sun grows cold, 
And the stars are old^ 
And the leaves of the fudgment 
Book unfold ! 

B. Taylor. 



86 




BAYARD TAYLOR 



SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. 



^^ipptt 3ife0on*0 (gibe. 

f~\ F all the rides since the birth of time, 
Told in story or sung in rhyme, — 

On Apuleius's Golden Ass, 

Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass, 

Witch astride of a human back, 

Islam's prophet on Al-Borak, — 

The strangest ride that ever was sped 

Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead ! 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Body of turkey, head of owl, 
Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, 
Feathered and ruffled in every part, 
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 
Scores of women, old and young, 
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue. 
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane. 
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain : 
*' Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead ! " 

87 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, 

Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, 

Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase 

Bacchus round some antique vase, 

Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, 

Loose of kerchief and loose of hair. 

With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, 

Over and over the Msenads sang : 

" Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead ! " 

Small pity for him ! — He sailed away 
From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay, — ■ 
Sailed away from a sinking wreck, 
With his own town's-people on her deck ! 
" Lay by ! lay by ! " they called to him. 
Back he answered, " Sink or swim ! 
Brag of your catch of fish again ! " 
And off he sailed through the fog and rain ! 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 
That wreck shall lie forevermore. 

88 



SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. 



Mother and sister, wife and maid, 
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead 
Over the moaning and rainy sea, — 
Looked for the coming that might not be ! 
What did the winds and the sea-birds say 
Of the cruel captain who sailed away ? — 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Through the street, on either side. 
Up flew windows, doors swung wide ; 
Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, 
Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. 
Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 
Hulks of old sailors run aground. 
Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane, 
And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : 
" Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead ! " 

Sweetly along the Salem road 

Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. 

Little the wicked skipper knew 

Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. 

89 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Riding there in his sorry trim, 

Like an Indian idol glum and grim, 

Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear 

Of voices shouting, far and near : 

" Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead ! " 

" Hear me, neighbors ! " at last he cried, — 
" What to me is this noisy ride ? 
What is the shame that clothes the skin 
To the nameless horror that lives within ? 
Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck. 
And hear a cry from a reeling deck ! 
Hate me and curse me, — I only dread 
The hand of God and the face of the dead ! " 
Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea 
Said, " God has touched him ! Why should wt^f 
Said an old wife, mourning her only son : 
" Cut the rogue's tether and let him run ! " 
So with soft relentings and rude excuse. 
Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, 

. 90 



SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. 

And gave him a cloak to hide him in, 
And left him alone with his shame and sin. 
Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

J. G. Whittier. 



91 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T TNDER a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and loiig, 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can. 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge. 
With measured beat and slow. 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door ; 



92 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 



They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice^ 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 

Onward through life he goes ; 
Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close ; 
Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

H. W. Longfellow. 
93 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T F with light head erect I sing, 

Though all the Muses lend their force, 
From my poor love of anything, 

The verse is weak and shallow as its source. 

But if with bended neck I grope 

Listening behind me for my wit, 
With faith superior to hope, 

More anxious to keep back than forward it, — 

Making my soul accomplice there 

Unto the flame my heart hath lit, 
Then will the verse for ever wear, — 

Time cannot bend the line which God has writ 
H. D. Thoreau. 



Ml 



HENRY DAVID THOREAU 



THE LAST LEAF. 



t^t feafit feeaf. 

T SAW him once before, 
As he passed by the door, 

And again 
The pavement stones resound. 
As he totters o'er the ground 

With his cane. 



They say that in his prime, 
Ere the pruning-knife of Time 

Cut him down. 
Not a better man was found 
By the crier on his round 

Through the town. 

But now he walks the streets. 
And he looks at all he meets 

Sad and wan, 
And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 

" They are gone." 

95 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has pressed 

In their bloom, 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said — 
Poor old lady, she is dead 

Long ago — 
That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow. 

But now his nose is thin, 
And it rests upon his chin 

Like a staff, 
And a crook is in his back, 
And a melancholy crack 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 

At him here ; 
But the old three-cornered hat, 
And the breeches, and all that. 

Are so queer ! 



96 



THE LAST LEAF. 



And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring, 
Let them smile, as I do now, 
At the old, forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 

O. W. Holmes. 



97 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



$9e CMof of ®eaf 9. 

From "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd." 

/"^OME lovely and soothing death, 

Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, 

arriving, 
In the day, in the night, to all, to each, 
Sooner or later delicate death. 

Prais'd be the fathomless universe. 

For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge 

curious. 
And for love, sweet love — but praise ! praise ! praise ! 
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. 

Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet. 
Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest 

welcome ? 
Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, 
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed 

come, come unfalteringly. 

98 



THE CAROL OF DEATH. 



Approach strong deliveress, 

When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously 

sing the dead, 
Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee. 
Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death. 

From me to thee glad serenades, 

Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments 
and feastings for thee, 

And the sights of the open landscape and the high- 
spread sky are fitting. 

And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful 
night. 

The night in silence under many a star. 

The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave 

whose voice I know, 
And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil'd 

death. 
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. 

Over the tree-tops I float thee a song. 

Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad 

fields and the prairies wide, 
Over the dense-pack'd cities all and the teeming 

wharves and ways, 
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death. 

W. Whitman. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



t^t QSfacft (ge^iment. 

Port Hudson, May 27, 1863. 

"T^ARK as the clouds of even, 

Ranked in the western heaven, 
Waiting the breath that Hfts 
All the dread mass, and drifts 
Tempest and falling brand 
Over a ruined land ; — 
So still and orderly. 
Arm to arm, knee to knee, 
Waiting the great event, 
Stands the black regiment. 

Down the long, dusky line 
Teeth gleam, and eyeballs shine ; 
And the bright bayonet, 
Bristling and firmly set, 
Flashed with a purpose grand, 
Long ere the sharp command 
Of the fierce rolling drum 
Told them their time had come, 
Told them what work was sent 
For the black regiment. 



THE BLACK REGIMENT. 

" Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
" Though death and hell betide, 
Let the whole nation see 
If we are fit to be 
Free in this land ; or bound 
Down, like the whining hound, — 
Bound with red stripes of pain 
In our old chains again ! " 
Oh, what a shout there went 
From the black regiment ! 

" Charge ! " Trump and drum awoke, 
Onward the bondmen broke ; 
Bayonet and sabre-stroke 
Vainly opposed their rush. 
Through the wild battle's crush. 
With but one thought aflush, 
Driving their lords like chaff, 
In the guns' mouths they laugh ; 
Or at the slippery brands 
Leaping with open hands, 
Down they tear man and horse, 
Down in their awful course ; 
Trampling with bloody heel 
Over the crashing steel. 
All their eyes forward bent, 
Rushed the black regiment. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



" Freedom ! " their battle-cry, — 
" Freedom ! or leave to die ! " 
Ah ! and they meant the word, 
Not as with us 'tis heard, 
Not a mere party shout ; 
They gave their spirits out. 
Trusted the end to God, 
And on the gory sod 
Rolled in triumphant blood. 
Glad to strike one free blow, 
Whether for weal or woe ; 
Glad to breathe one free breath, 
Though on the lips of death ; 
Praying — alas ! in vain ! — 
That they might fall again, 
So they could once more see 
That burst to liberty ! 
This was what " freedom " lent 
To the black regiment. 



Hundreds on hundreds fell ; 
But they are resting well ; 
Scourges and shackles strong 
Never shall do them wrong. 
Oh, to the living few. 
Soldiers, be just and true ! 



THE BLACK REGIMENT. 

Hail them as comrades tried ; 
Fight with them side by side ; 
Never, in field or tent, 
Scorn the black regiment. 

G. H. BOKER. 



103 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



'T'HE despot treads thy sacred sands, 

Thy pines give shelter to his bands, 
Thy sons stand by with idle hands, 

Carolina ! 
He breathes at ease thy airs of balm, 
He scorns the lances of thy palm ; 
Oh ! who shall break thy craven calm, 

Carolina ! 
Thy ancient fame is growing dim, 
A spot is on thy garment's rim ; 
Give to the winds thy battle-hymn, 

Carolina ! 

Call on thy children of the hill. 
Wake swamp and river, coast and rill. 
Rouse all thy strength and all thy skill, 

Carolina ! 
Cite wealth and science, trade and art. 
Touch with thy fire the cautious mart, 
And pour thee through the people's heart, 

Carolina ! 

104 



CAROLINA. 



Till even the coward spurns his fears, 
And all thy fields, and fens, and meres 
Shall bristle like thy palm with spears, 
Carolina ! 

I hear a murmur as of waves 

That grope their way through sunless caves, 

Like bodies struggling in their graves, 

Carolina ! 
And now it deepens ; slow and grand 
It swells, as, rolling to the land. 
An ocean broke upon thy strand, 

Carolina ! 
Shout ! Let it reach the startled Huns ! 
And roar with all thy festal guns ! 
It is the answer of thy sons, 

Carolina ! 

H. TiMROD. 



WS 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



©ttje for a ^ofbiet. 

/"^LOSE his eyes ; his work is done ! 
What to him is friend or foeman, 
Rise of moon, or set of sun, 

Hand of man, or kiss of woman ? 
Lay him low, lay him low. 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? He cannot know ; 
Lay him low ! 

As man may, he fought his fight. 

Proved his truth by his endeavor ; 
Let him sleep in solemn night. 
Sleep forever and forever. 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? He cannot know ; 
Lay him low ! 

Fold him in his country's stars. 
Roll the drum and fire the volley ! 

What to him are all our wars, 

What but death bemocking folly ? 

1 06 



DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. 

Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? He cannot know; 
Lay him low ! 

Leave him to God's watching eye ; 

Trust him to the hand that made him. 
Mortal love weeps idly by ; 

God alone has power to aid him. 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? He cannot know ! 
Lay him low ! 

G. H. BOKER. 



107 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



®attfe^5l?mn of f^e (gtpuMc. 

TV/r INE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of 

the Lord : 
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of 

wrath are stored ; 
He hath loosed the fatal lightning of His terrible 
swift sword : 

His truth is marching on. 

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred 

circling camps ; 
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews 

and damps ; 
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and 

flaring lamps : 

His day is marching on. 

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of 

steel : 
" As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My 

grace shall deal ; 
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent 

with His heel ! 

Since God is marching on." 

io8 




JULIA WARD HOWE. 



BATTLE- HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never 
call retreat ; 

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judg- 
ment seat ; 

Oh ! be swift, my soul, to answer Him ! be jubilant, 
my feet ! 

Our God is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born, across 

the sea, 
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and 

me: 
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make 
men free. 

While God is marching on, 

J. W. Howe. 



109 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Sattasut 

"pARRAGUT, Farragut, 

Old Heart of Oak, 
Daring Dave Farragut, 

Thunderbolt stroke, 
Watches the hoary mist 

Lift from the bay, 
Till his flag, glory-kissed, 

Greets the young day. 

Far, by gray Morgan's walls. 

Looms the black fleet 
Hark, deck to rampart calls 

With the drums' beat ! 
Buoy your chains overboard, 

While the steam hums ; 
Men ! to the battlement, 

Farragut comes. 

See, as the hurricane 

Hurtles in wrath 
Squadrons of clouds amain 

Back from its path ! 



FARRAGUT. 

Back to the parapet, 

To the guns' lips, 
Thunderbolt Farragut 

Hurls the black ships. 

Now through the battle's roar 

Clear the boy sings, 
" By the mark fathoms four," 

While his lead swings. 
Steady the wheelmen five 

" Nor' by east keep her," 
" Steady," but two alive : 

How the shells sweep her ! 

Lashed to the mast that sways 

Over red decks, 
Over the flame that plays 

Round the torn wrecks, 
Over the dying lips 

Framed for a cheer, 
Farragut leads his ships, 

Guides the line clear. 

On by heights cannon-browed, 
While the spars quiver ; 

Onward still flames the cloud 
Where the hulks shiver. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



See, yon fort's star is set, 

Storm and fire past. 
Cheer him, lads, — Farragut, 

Lashed to the mast ! 

Oh ! while Atlantic's breast 

Bears a white sail, 
While the Gulf's towering crest 

Tops a green vale ; 
Men thy bold deeds shall tell, 

Old Heart of Oak, 
Daring Dave Farragut, 

Thunderbolt stroke ! 

W. T. Meredith. 



MY MARYLAND. 



(St)? (Stciri^fan^. 

'T*HE despot's heel is on thy shore, 

Maryland ! 
His torch is at thy temple door, 

Maryland ! 
Avenge the patriotic gore 
That flecked the streets of Baltimore, 
And be the battle-queen of yore, 
Maryland, my Maryland ! 

Hark to an exiled son's appeal, 

Maryland ! 
My Mother State, to thee I kneel, 

Maryland ! 
For life and death, for woe and weal, 
Thy peerless chivalry reveal, 
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 

Thou wilt not cower in the dust, 
Maryland ! 

"3 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS, 



Thy beaming sword shall never rust, 

Maryland ! 
Remember Carroll's sacred trust, 
Remember Howard's warlike thrust, 
And all thy slumberers with the just, 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 

Come ! 'tis the red dawn of the day, 

Maryland ! 
Come with thy panoplied array, 

Maryland! 
With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, 
With Watson's blood at Monterey, 
With fearless Lowe and dashing May, 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 

Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain, 

Maryland ! 
Virginia should not call in vain, 

Maryland ! 
She meets her sisters on the plain, — 
'■'■Sic semper/^'' 'tis the proud refrain 
That baffles minions back amain, 

Maryland ! 
Arise in majesty again, 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 



MY MARYLAND. 



Come ! for thy shield is bright and strong, 

Maryland ! 
Come ! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, 

Maryland ! 
Come to thine own heroic throng 
Stalking with Liberty along, 
And chant thy dauntless slogan-song, 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 

I see the blush upon thy cheek, 

Maryland ! 
For thou wast ever bravely meek, 

Maryland ! 
But lo ! there surges forth a shriek, 
From hill to hill, from creek to creek, 
Potomac calls to Chesapeake, 

Maryland, my Maryland! 

Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, 

Maryland ! 
Thou wilt not crook to his control, 

Maryland ! 
Better the fire upon thee roll, 
Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, 
Than crucifixion of the soul, 

Maryland, ray Maryland I 

IIS 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



I hear the distant thunder-hum, 

Maryland ! 
The old Line's bugle, fife, and drum, 

Maryland ! 
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb ; 
Huzza ! she spurns the Northern scum ! 
She breathes ! She burns ! She'll come ! 
She'll come ! 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 

J. R. Randall 



ii6 



TO THE MAN -OF -WAR -BIRD. 



npHOU who hast slept all night upon the storm, 

Waking renevv'd on thy prodigious pinions, 
(Burst the wild storm ? above it thou ascended'st, 
And rested on the sky, thy slave that cradled thee,) 
Now a blue point, far, far in heaven floating, 
As to the light emerging here on deck I watch thee, 
(Myself a speck, a point on the world's floating vast.) 

Far, far at sea, 

After the night's fierce drifts have strewn the shore 

with wrecks, 
With re-appearing day as now so happy and serene. 
The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun. 
The limpid spread of air cerulean, 
Thou also re-appearest. 

Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,) 
To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurri- 
cane, 
Thou ship of air that never furl'st thy sails. 
Days, even weeks untired and onward, through 
spaces, realms gyrating, 

117 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



At dusk that look'st on Senegal, at morn America, 
That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and thunder- 
cloud, 
In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my soul, 
What joys! what joys were thine ! 

W. Whitman 



ii8 



SONG OF THE CAMP. 







Z^t ^ong of t^e €amp. 



/^~^ IVE us a song ! " the soldiers cried, 
The outer trenches guarding, 
When the heated guns of the camps allied 
Grew weary of bombarding. 

The dark Redan, in silent scoff, 
Lay grim and threatening under ; 

And the tawny mound of the Malakoff 
No longer belch'd its thunder. 

There was a pause. A guardsman said : 
" We storm the forts to-morrow ; 

Sing while we may, another day 
Will bring enough of sorrow." 

They lay along the battery's side, 

Below the smoking cannon : 
Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, 

And from the banks of Shannon. 

They sang of love, and not of fame ; 
Forgot was Britain's glory ; 

."9 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Each heart recall'd a different name, 
But all sang " Annie Laurie." 

Voice after voice caught up the song, 

Until its tender passion 
Rose like an anthem, rich and strong, — 

Their battle-eve confession. 

Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, 
But as the song grew louder, 

Something upon the soldier's cheek 
Washed off the stains of powder. 

Beyond the darkening ocean burn'd 

The bloody sunset's embers. 
While the Crimean valleys learn'd 

How English love remembers. 

And once again a fire of hell 
Rain'd on the Russian quarters, 

With scream of shot, and burst of shell, 
And bellowing of the mortars ! 

And Irish Nora's eyes are dim 
For a singer dumb and gory ; 

And English Mary mourns for him 
Who sang of " Annie Laurie." 



SONG OF THE CAMP. 



Sleep, soldiers ! still in honor'd rest 

Your truth and valor wearing : 
The bravest are the tenderest, — 

The loving are the daring. 

B. Taylor. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



3n t^e hospital 

T LAY me down to sleep, 

With little thought or care 

Whether my waking find 
Me here or there. 

A bowing, burdened head, 
That only asks to rest, 
Unquestioning, upon 
A loving breast. 

My good right hand forgets 
Its cunning now. 
To march the weary tnarch 
I know not how. 

I am not eager, bold, 
Nor strong — all that is past ; 
I am ready not to do 
At last, at last. 

My half day's work is done, 
And this is all my part ; 
I give a patient God 
My patient heart, 



IN THE HOSPITAL. 

And grasp His banner still, 
Though all its blue be dim ; 
These stripes, no less than stars, 
Lead after Him. 

M. W. Rowland. 



123 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



QJnbet f5^ O)iofefs. 

T T ER hands are cold ; her face is white ; 
No more her pulses come and go ; 

Her eyes are shut to life and light ; — 
Fold the white vesture, snow on snow, 
And lay her where the violets blow. 

But not beneath a graven stone, 
To plead for tears with alien eyes ; 

A slender cross of wood alone 
Shall say, that here a maiden lies 
In peace beneath the peaceful skies. 

And gray old trees of hugest limb 

Shall wheel their circling shadows round 

To make the scorching sunlight dim 

That drinks the greenness from the ground, 
And drop their dead leaves on her mound. 

When o'er their boughs the squirrels run, 
And through their leaves the robins call. 

And, ripening in the autumn sun, 
The acorns and the chestnuts fall, 
Doubt not that she will heed them all. 



124 



UNDER THE VIOLETS, 



For her the morning choir shall sing 
Its matins from the branches high, 

And every minstrel voice of Spring, 
That trills beneath the April sky, 
Shall greet her with its earliest cry. 

When, turning round their dial-track, 
Eastward the lengthening shadows pass, 

Her little mourners, clad in black, 

The crickets, sliding through the grass, 
Shall pipe for her an evening mass. 

At last the rootlets of the trees 

Shall find the prison where she lies, 

And bear the buried dust they seize 
In leaves and blossoms to the skies. 
So may the soul that warmed it rise ! 

If any, born of kindlier blood. 

Should ask. What maiden lies below ? 

Say only this : A tender bud, 

That tried to blossom in the snow. 
Lies withered where the violets blow. 

O. W. Holmes. 



"S 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



"PjAUGHTERS of Time, the hypocritic Days, 

Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, 
And marching single in an endless file, 
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. 
To each they offer gifts after his will, 
Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. 
I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, 
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily 
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day 
Turned and departed silent. I, too late, 
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn. 

R. W. Emerson. 



126 







RALPH WALDO EMERSON 



THE DYING LOVER. 



nPHE grass that is under me now 
Will soon be over me, Sweet ; 
When you walk this way again 
I shall not hear your feet. 

You may walk this way again, 
And shed your tears like dew ; 

They will be no more to me then 
Than mine are now to you ! 

R. H. Stoddard. 



'From "The Poems of R. H. Stoddard," copyright, i88o. bs 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



127 



/ 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



AIT" HEN I was a beggarly boy, 

And lived in a cellar damp, 
I had not a friend nor a toy, 

But I had Aladdin's lamp ; 
When I could not sleep for cold, 

I had fire enough in my brain. 
And builded, with roofs of gold. 

My beautiful castles in Spain ! 

Since then I have toiled day and night, 

I have money and power good store, 
But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright, 

For the one that is mine no more ; 
Take, Fortune, whatever you choose, — 

You gave, and may snatch again ; 
I have nothing 'twould pain me to lose, 

For I own no more castles in Spain ! 

J. R. LoWELLo 



•128 




RICHARD HENRY STODDARD 



THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH. 



t^ Sftg^i of <Bouf5.' 

T^HERE are gains for all our losses, 
There are balms for all our pain ; 
But when youth, the dream, departs. 
It takes something from our hearts, 
And it never comes again. 

We are stronger, and are better, 
Under manhood's sterner reign ; 

Still, we feel that something sweet 

Followed youth, with flying feet, 
And will never come again. 

Something beautiful is vanished, 

And we sigh for it in vain ; 
We behold it everywhere. 
On the earth, and in the air. 

But it never comes again. 

R. H. Stoddard. 



» From "The Poems of R. H. Stoddard," copyright, 1880, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



129 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



HTHE pines were dark on Ramoth hill. 

Their song was soft and low ; 
The blossoms in the sweet May wind 
Were falling like the snow. 

The blossoms drifted at our feet, 
The orchard birds sang clear ; 

The sweetest and the saddest day 
It seemed of all the year. 

For, more to me than birds or flowers, 

My playmate left her home, 
And took with her the laughing spring, 

The music and the bloom. 

She kissed the lips of kith and kin, 

She laid her hand in mine : 
What more could ask the bashful boy 

Who fed her father's kine ? 

She left us in the bloom of May : 

The constant years told o'er 
Their seasons with as sweet May morns, 

But she came back no more. 

130 . 



THE PLAYMATE. 

I walk, with noiseless feet, the round 

Of uneventful years ; 
Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring 

And reap the autumn ears. 

She lives where all the golden year 

Her summer roses blow ; 
The dusky children of the sun 

Before her come and go. 

There haply with her jewelled hands 
She smooths her silken gown, — 

No more the homespun lap wherein 
I shook the walnuts down. 

The wild grapes wait us by the brook, 

The brown nuts on the hill, 
And still the May-day flowers make sweet 

The woods of Follymill. 

The lilies blossom in the pond, 

The bird builds in the tree. 
The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill 

The slow song of the sea. 

I wonder if she thinks of them, 
And how the old time seems, — 

131 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

If ever the pines of Ramoth wood 
Are sounding in her dreams. 

I see her face, I hear her voice : 

Does she remember mine ? 
And what to her is now the boy 

Who fed her father's kine ? 

What cares she that the orioles build 

For other eyes than ours, — 
That other hands with nuts are filled, 

And other laps with flowers ? 

O playmate in the golden time ! 

Our mossy seat is green, 

Its fringing violets blossom yet, 

The old trees o'er it lean. 

The winds so sweet with birch and fern 

A sweeter memory blow ; 
And there in spring the veeries sing 

The song of long ago. 

And still the pines of Ramoth wood 

Are moaning like the sea, — 
The moaning of the sea of change 

Between myself and thee ! 

J. G. Whittier. 



132 



SERENADE. 



CTARS of the summer night! 

Far in yon azure deeps, 
Hide, hide your golden light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Moon of the summer night ! 

Far down yon western steeps, 
Sink, sink in silver light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Wind of the summer night ! 

Where yonder woodbine creeps 
Fold, fold thy pinions light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps! 

Dreams of the summer night ! 
Tell her, her lover keeps 

133 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Watch ! while in slumbers light 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

H. W. LONGFELLOWo 



134 




THE REPUBLIC. 



$9e OKe^jufific/ 



'yHOU, too, sail on, O Ship of State! 

Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! 
Humanity with all its fears, 
With all the hopes of future years, 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
We know what Master laid thy keel, 
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel. 
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 
What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 
In what a forge and what a heat 
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 
Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 
'Tis of the wave, and not the rock ; 
'Tis but the flapping of the sail. 
And not a rent made by the gale ! 
In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 
In spite of false lights on the shore, 
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
Are all with thee, — are all with thee 1 

H. W. Longfellow. 

» From " The Building of the Ship." 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



TJ ER suffering ended with the day, 

Yet lived she at its close, 
And breathed the long, long night away 
In statue-like repose. 

But when the sun in all his state 

Illumed the eastern skies. 
She passed through Glory's morning gate 

And walked in Paradise. 

J. Aldrich. 



136 



TELLING THE BEES. 



^effing f^e (gees. 

T_T ERE is the place ; right over the hill 

Runs the path I took ; 
You can see the gap in the old wall still, 

And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. 

There is the house, with the gate red-barred, 

And the poplars tall ; 
And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard, 

And the white horns tossing above the wall. 

There are the beehives ranged in the sun ; 

And down by the brink 
Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun, — 

Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink. 

A year has gone, as the tortoise goes, 

Heavy and slow; 
And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, 

And the same brook sings of a year ago. 

There's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze ; 
And the June sun warm 



137 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Tangles his wings of fire in the trees, 
Setting, as then, over-Fernside farm. 

I mind me how with a lover's care 

From my Sunday coat 
I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair. 

And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat. 

Since we parted, a month had passed, — 

To love, a year ; 
Down through the beeches I looked at last 

On the little red gate and the well-sweep near. 

I can see it all now, — the slantwise rain 

Of light through the leaves, 
The sundown's blaze on her window-pane, 

The bloom of her roses under the eaves. 

Just the same as a month before, — 

The house and the trees. 
The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, — 

Nothing changed but the hives of bees. 

Before them, under the garden wall, 

Forward and back. 
Went, drearily singing, the chore-girl small, 

Draping each hive with a shred of black. 

138 



TELLING THE BEES. 

Trembling, I listened ; the summer sun 

Had the chill of snow ; 
For I knew she was telling the bees of one 

Gone on the journey we all must go ! 

Then I said to myself, " My Mary weeps 

For the dead to-day; 
Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps 

The fret and the pain of his age away." 

But her dog whined low ; on the doorway sill, 

With his cane to his chin. 
The old man sat ; and the chore-girl still 

Sung to the bees stealing out and in. 

And the song she was singing ever since 

In my ear sounds on : 
" Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence ! 

Mistress Mary is dead and gone ! " 

J. G. Whittier. 



^9 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T T may be through some foreign grace, 

And unfamiliar charm of face ; 
It may be that across the foam 
Which bore her from her childhood's home, 
By some strange spell, my Katie brought 
Along with English creeds and thought — 
Entangled in her golden hair — 
Some English sunshine, warmth, and air ! 
I cannot tell, — but here to-day, 
A thousand billowy leagues away 
From that green isle whose tv/ilight skies 
No darker are than Katie's eyes, 
She seems to me, go where she will, 
An English girl in England still ! 

I meet her on the dusty street. 
And daisies spring about her feet ; 
Or, touched to life beneath her tread, 
An English cowslip lifts its head ; 
And, as to do her grace, rise up 
The primrose and the buttercup ! 
I roam with her through fields of cane, 
And seem to stroll an English lane, 



140 



KATIE. 

Which, white with blossoms of the May, 

Spreads its green carpet in her way ! 

As fancy wills, the path beneath 

Is golden gorse, or purple heath ; 

And now we hear in woodlands dim 

Their unarticulated hymn, 

Now walk through rippling waves of wheat 

Now sink in mats of clover sweet. 

Or see before us from the lawn 

The lark go up to greet the dawn ! 

All birds that love the English sky 

Throng round my path when she is by ; 

The blackbird from a neighboring thorn 

With music brims the cup of morn, 

And in a thick, melodious rain 

The mavis pours her mellow strain ! 

But only when my Katie's voice 

Makes all the listening woods rejoice 

I hear — with cheeks that flush and pale — 

The passion of the nightingale ! 

H. TiMROD. 



141 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



"IVr OT as all other women are 

Is she that to my soul is dear; 
Her glorious fancies come from far, 
Beneath the silver evening-star, 
And yet her heart is ever near. 

Great feelings hath she of her own, 
Which lesser souls may never know ; 
God giveth them to her alone, 
And sweet they are as any tone 
Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. 

Yet in herself she dwelleth not, 
Although no home were half so fair , 
No simplest duty is forgot ; 
Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
That doth not in her sunshine share. 

She doeth little kindnesses, 

Which most leave undone, or despise ; 

For naught that sets one heart at ease, 

And giveth happiness or peace, 

Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 

142 



MY LOVE. 



She hath no scorn of common things, 
And, though she seem of other birth, 
Round us her heart intwines and clingSj 
And patiently she folds her wings 
To tread the humble paths of earth. 

Blessing she is ; God made her so, 
And deeds of week-day holiness 
Fall from her noiseless as the snow, 
Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
That aught were easier than to bless. 

She is most fair, and thereunto 
Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 
Feeling or thought that was not true 
Ne'er made less beautiful the blue 
Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 

She is a woman ; one in whom 
The spring-time of her childish years 
Hath never lost its fresh perfume. 
Though knowing well that life hath room 
For many blights and many tears. 

I love her with a love as still 

As a broad river's peaceful might, 

H3 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Which, by high tower and lowly mill, 
Goes wandering at its own will, 
And yet doth ever flow aright. 

And, on its full, deep breast serene, 

Like quiet isles my duties lie ; 

It flows around them and between. 

And makes them fresh, and fair, and green, 

Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 

J. R. Lowell. 



144 



SHE CAME AND WENT. 



^^e Came an^ ^mt 

A S a twig trembles, which a bird 

Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent, 
So is my memory thrilled and stirred ; — 
I only know she came and went. 



As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven, 
The blue dome's measureless content, 

So my soul held that moment's heaven ; — 
I only know she came and went. 

As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps 
The orchards full of bloom and scent, 

So clove her May my wintry sleeps ; — 
I only know she came and went. 

An angel stood and met my gaze. 

Through the low doorway of my tent ; 

The tent is struck, the vision stays ; — 
I only know she came and went. 

145 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Oh, when the room grows slowly dim, 
And life's last oil is nearly spent, 

One gush of light these eyes will brim, 
Only to think she came and went. 

J. R. Lowell. 



146 



HER EPITAPH. 



get (Bpifap^* 



'T^HE handful here, that once was Mary's earth, 
Held, while it breathed, so beautiful a soul, 
That, when she died, all recognized her birth. 
And had their sorrow in serene control. 



" Not here ! not here ! " to every mourner's heart 
The wintry wind seemed whispering round her 
bier; 

And when the tomb-door opened, with a start 
We heard it echoed from within, — " Not here ! " 

Shouldst thou, sad pilgrim, who mayst hither pass, 

Note in these flowers a delicater hue, 
Should spring come earlier to this hallowed grass. 

Or the bee later linger on the dew, — 

Know that her spirit to her body lent 

Such sweetness, grace, as only goodness can ; 

That even her dust, and this her monument. 
Have yet a spell to stay one lonely man, — 

H7 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Lonely through life, but looking for the day 
When what is mortal of himself shall sleep, 

When human passion shall have passed away, 
And Love no longer be a thing to weep. 

T. W. Parsons. 



148 




THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS 



L 



ik_ 



THE ESTRAY. 



* 'M' OW tell me, my merry woodman, 

Why standest so aghast ? " 
' My lord ! — 'twas a beautiful creature 
That hath but just gone past ! " 

' A creature — what kind of a creature ? " 
" Nay, now, but I do not know ! " 

' Humph ! — what did it make you think of?" 
" The sunshine on the snow." 

* I shall overtake my horse then." 

The woodman open'd his eye : 
The gold fell all around him, 
And a rainbow spann'd the sky. 

B. F. WiLLSON. 



149 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



€^t ®i0co»ereir. 

T HAVE a little kinsman 

Whose earthly summers are but three^ 
And yet a voyager is he 
Greater than Drake or Frobisher, 
Than all their peers together ! 
He is a brave discoverer, 
And, far beyond the tether 
Of them who seek the frozen Pole, 
Has sailed where the noiseless surges roll. 
Ay, he has travelled whither 
A winged pilot steered his bark 
Through the portals of the dark. 
Past hoary Mimir's well and tree, 
Across the unknown sea. 



Suddenly, in his fair young hour, 
Came one who bore a flower, 
And laid it in his dimpled hand 

With this command : 
" Henceforth thou art a rover ! 
Thou must make a voyage far, 

ISO 



THE DISCOVERER. 



Sail beneath the evening star, 
And a wondrous land discover." 
— With his sweet smile innocent 
Our little kinsman went. 

Since that time no word 

From the absent has been heard. 

Who can tell 
How he fares, or answer well 
What the little one has found 
Since he left us, outward bound ? 
Would that he might return ! 
Then should we learn 
From the pricking of his chart 
How the skyey roadways part. 
Hush ! does not the baby tliis way bring. 
To lay beside this severed curl, 

Some starry offering 
Of chrysolite or pearl ? 

Ah, no ! not so ! 
We may follow on his track, 

But he comes not back. 

And yet I dare aver 
He is a brave discoverer 
Of climes his elders do not know. 

151 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



He has more learning than appears 
On the scroll of twice three thousand years, 
More than in the groves is taught, 
Or from furthest Indies brought; 
He knows, perchance, how spirits fare, — 
What shapes the angels wear. 
What is their guise and speech 
In those lands beyond our reach, — 
And his eyes behold 
Things that shall never, never be to mortal hearers 
told. 

E. C. Stedman. 



152 



AT LAST. 



'\ 1 rHEN first the bride and bridegroom wed. 

They love their single selves the best ; 
A sword is in the marriage bed, 

Their separate slumbers are not rest. 
They quarrel, and make up again. 
They give and suffer worlds of pain. 
Both right and wrong, 
They struggle long. 
Till some good day, when they are old, 
Some dark day, when the bells are tolled, 
Death having taken their best of life, 

They lose themselves, and find each other ; 
They know that they are husband, wife, 
For, weeping, they are Father, Mother ! 

R. H. Stoddard. 



I From "The Poems of R. H. Stoddard," copyright 1880, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



153 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



CRY OF THE TEN THOUSAND. 

T STAND upon the summit of my years. 

Behind, the toil, the camp, the march, the strife. 
The wandering and the desert ; vast, afar, 
Beyond this weary way, behold ! the Sea ! 
The sea o'erswept by clouds and winds and wings, 
By thoughts and wishes manifold, whose breath 
Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace. 
Palter no question of the dim Beyond ; 
Cut loose the bark ; such voyage itself is rest ; 
Majestic motion, unimpeded scope, 
A widening heaven, a current without care. 
Eternity ! — Deliverance, Promise, Course ! 
Time-tired souls salute thee from the shore. 

J. B. Brown. 



«M 



GONDOLIEDS. 



(Bon^ofiebs. 
I. 

YESTERDAY. 



T^EAR yesterday, glide not so fast; 

Oh, let me cling 
To thy white garments floating past; 
Even to shadows which they cast 

I cling, I cling. 

Show me thy face 
Just once, once more ; a single night 
Cannot have brought a loss, a blight 

Upon its grace. 

Nor are they dead whom thou dost bear, 

Robed for the grave. 
See what a smile their red lips wear; 
To lay them living wilt thou dare 

Into a grave ? 

I know, I know, 
I left thee first ; now I repent ; 
I listen now ; I never meant 

To have thee go. 

1 55 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Just once, once more, tell me the word 

Thou hadst for me ! 
Alas ! although my heart was stirred, 
I never fully knew or heard 

It was for me. 

O yesterday, 
My yesterday, thy sorest pain 
Were joy couldst thou but come again, — 

Sweet yesterday. 
Venice, May 26. 

II. 

TO-MORROW. 

All red with joy the waiting west, 

O little swallow, 
Couldst thou tell me which road is best ? 
Cleaving high air with thy soft breast 

For keel, O swallow, 

Thou must o'erlook 
My seas and know if I mistake ; 
I would not the same harbor make 

Which yesterday forsook. 

I hear the swift blades dip and plash 

Of unseen rowers ; 

156 



GONDOLIEDS. 

On unknown land the waters dash ; 
Who knows how it be wise or rash 

To meet the rowers ! 

Premi ! Premi ! 
Venetia's boatmen lean and cry ; 
With voiceless lips I drift and lie 

Upon the twilight sea. 

The swallow sleeps. Her last low call 

Had sound of warning. 
Sweet little one, whatever befall, 
Thou wilt not know that it was all 

In vain thy warning. 

I may not borrow 
A hope, a help. I close my eyes ; 
Cold wind blows from the Bridge of Sighs ; 

Kneeling I wait to-morrow. 

Venice, May 30. 

H. H. Jackson. 



157 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



3n t5e t^ifiQ^t 

IWr EN say the sullen instrument 

That, from the Master's bow, 
With pangs of joy or woe, 
Feels music's soul through every fibre sent. 

Whispers the ravished strings 
More than he knew or meant ; 

Old summers in its memory glow ; 

The secrets of the wind it sings ; 

It hears the April-loosened springs ; 

And mixes with its mood 

All it dreamed when it stood 

In the murmurous pine-wood 

Long ago ! 

The magical moonlight then 

Steeped every bough and cone; 
The roar of the brook in the glen 

Came dim from the distance blown ; 
The wind through its glooms sang low. 
And it swayed to and fro 
With delight as it stood, 
In the wonderful wood, 
Long ago ! 

iS8 



IN THE TWILIGHT. 



O my life, have we not had seasons 

That only said, " Live and rejoice ? " 
That asked not for causes and reasons, 

But made us all feeling and voice ? 
When we went with the winds in their blowing, 

When Nature and we were peers, 
And we seemed to share in the flowing 
Of the inexhaustible years ? 
Have we not from the earth drawn juices 
Too fine for earth's sordid uses ? 
Have I heard, have I seen 

All I feel and I know? 
Doth my heart overween ? 
Or could it have been 
Long ago ? 



Sometimes a breath floats by me, 

An odor from Dreamland sent, 
That makes the ghost seem nigh me 

Of a splendor that came and went. 
Of a life lived somewhere, I know not 

In what diviner sphere, 
Of memories that stay not and go not. 

Like music heard once by an ear 
That cannot forget or reclaim it, 
A something so shy, it would shame it 

IS9 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

To make it a show, 
A something too vague, could I name it, 

For others to know, 
As if I had lived it or dreamed it. 
As if I had acted or schemed it. 
Long ago ! 

And yet, could I live it over, 

This life that stirs in my brain, 
Could I be both maiden and lover, 
Moon and tide, bee and clover. 

As I seem to have been, once again, 
Could I but speak and show it, 

This pleasure more sharp than pain, 
That baffles and lures me so, 
The world should not lack a poet, 
Such as it had 
In the ages glad. 

Long ago ! 

J. R. Lowell. 



i6o 



THE TIDE RISES, THE TIDE FALLS. 



HTHE tide rises, the tide falls, 

The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; 
Along the sea-sands damp and brown 
The traveller hastens toward the town, 
And the tide rises, the tide falls. 

Darkness settles on roofs and walls. 
But the sea in the darkness calls and calls ; 
The little waves, with their soft, white hands, 
Efface the footprints in the sands. 
And the tide rises, the tide falls. 

The morning breaks ; the steeds in their stalls 
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls ; 
The day returns, but nevermore 
Returns the traveller to the shore, 
And the tide rises, the tide falls, 

H. W. Longfellow. 



i6i 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



3[une»' 

For a cap and bells our lives we pay, 
Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking: 

'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 
'Tis only God may be had for the asking ; 
No price is set on the lavish summer ; 
June may be had by the poorest comer. 



And what is so rare as a day in June ? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, 

And over it softly her warm ear lays ; 
Whether we look or whether we listen. 
We hear life murmur or see it glisten ; 
Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And, groping blindly above it for light, 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 
The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green, 

* From " The Vision of Sir Launfal." 
162 



JUNE. 



The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace ; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves. 
And lets his illumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives ; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings. 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; 
He sings to the wide world and she to her nest, — 
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? 

Now is the high-tide of the year. 

And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer. 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; 
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it. 
We are happy now because God wills it ; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green ; 
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; 
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
That skies are clear and grass is growing ; 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear. 
That dandelions are blossoming near, 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 

163 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



That the river is bluer than the sky, 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; 
And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
For other couriers we should not lack ; 

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, - — 
And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer, 
"V^'armed with the new wine of the year, 

Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 

J. R. Lowell. 



164 



THE RHODORA. 



ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? 

T N May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 

I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
The purple petals, fallen in the pool. 
Made the black water with their beauty gay ; 
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, 
And court the flower that cheapens his array. 
Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, 
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being : 
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! 
I never thought to ask, I never knew : 
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose 
The self-same Power that brought me there brought 
you. 

R. W. Emerson. 



i6s 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



r\ NATURE ! I do not aspire 

To be the highest in thy quire, — - 
To be a meteor in the sky, 
Or comet that may range on high ; 
Only a zephyr that may blow 
Among the reeds by the river low ; 
Give me thy most privy place 
Where to run my airy race. 

In some withdrawn, unpublic mead 
Let me sigh upon a reed, 
Or in the woods, with leafy din, 
Whisper the still evening in : 
Some still work give me to do, — 
Only — be it near to you ! 
For I'd rather be thy child 
And pupil, in the forest wild, 
Than be the king of men elsewhere, 
And most sovereign slave of care. 

H. D. Thoreau. 



i66 



MY STRAWBERRY. 



r\ MARVEL, fruit of fruits, I pause 

To reckon thee. I ask what cause 
Set free so much of red from heats 
At core of earth, and mixed such sweets 
With sour and spice : what was that strength 
Which out of darkness, length by length, 
Spun all thy shining thread of vine. 
Netting the fields in bond as thine. 
I see thy tendrils drink by sips 
From grass and clover's smiling lips ; 
I hear thy roots dig down for wells, 
Tapping the meadow's hidden cells ; 

Whole generations of green things. 
Descended from long lines of springs, 
I see make room for thee to bide 
A quiet comrade by their side; 
I see the creeping peoples go 
Mysterious journeys to and fro, 
Treading to right and left of thee, 
Doing thee homage wonderingly. 
I see the wild bees as they fare, 
Thy cups of honey drink, but spare. 

167 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

I mark thee bathe and bathe again 
In sweet uncalendared spring rain. 
I watch how all May has of sun 
Makes haste to have thy ripeness done, 
While all her nights let dews escape 
To set and cool thy perfect shape. 
Ah, fruit of fruits, no more I pause 
To dream and seek thy hidden laws ! 
I stretch my hand and dare to taste, 
In instant of delicious waste 
On single feast, all things that went 
To make the empire thou hast spent. 

H. H. Jackson. 



i68 




HELEN HUNT JACKSON 



THE HUMBLE-BEE. 



"DURLY, dozing humble-bee, 

Where thou art is clime for me. 
Let them sail for Porto Rique, 
Far-off heats through seas to seek ; 
I will follow thee alone, 
Thou animated torrid-zone ! 
Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, 
Let me chase thy waving lines ; 
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, 
Singing over shrubs and vines. 

Insect lover of the sun, 
Joy of thy dominion ! 
Sailor of the atmosphere ; 
Swimmer through the waves of air ; 
Voyager of light and noon ; 
Epicurean of June ; 
Wait, I prithee, till I come 
Within earshot of thy hum, — 
All without is martyrdom. 

When the south wind, in May days, 
With a net of shining haze 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Silvers the horizon wall, 
And with softness touching all, 
Tints the human countenance 
With a color of romance, 
And infusing subtle heats. 
Turns the sod to violets. 
Thou, in sunny solitudes. 
Rover of the underwoods. 
The green silence dost displace 
With thy mellow, breezy bass. 

Hot midsummer's petted crone. 
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone 
Tells of countless sunny hours, 
Long days, and solid banks of flowers ; 
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound 
In Indian wildernesses found ; 
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure. 
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. 

Aught unsavory or unclean 

Hath my insect never seen ; 

But violets and bilberry bells, 

Maple-sap and daffodels. 

Grass with green flag half-mast high, 

Succory to match the sky, 

170 



THE HUMBLE-BEE. 

Columbine with horn of honey, 
Scented fern, and agrimony, 
Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue, 
And brier-roses, dwelt among ; 
All beside was unknown waste, 
All was picture as he passed. 

Wiser far than human seer. 
Yellow-breeched philosopher ! 
Seeing only what is fair. 
Sipping only what is sweet, 
Thou dost mock at fate and care, 
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. 
When the fierce northwestern blast 
Cools sea and land so far and fast, 
Thou already slumberest deep ; 
Woe and want thou canst outsleep ; 
Want and woe, which torture us, 
Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 

R. W. Emerson. 



171 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

^ ^ong of (JftiQ^i ttn^ (Baxt^. 

From " Song of Myself." 

T AM he that walks with the tender and growing 

night, 
I call to the earth and sea half -held by the night. 
Press close bare-bosom'd night — press close mag- 
netic nourishing night ! 
Night of south winds — night of the large few stars ! 
Still nodding night — mad naked summer night. 

Smile O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth ! 

Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees ! 

Earth of departed sunset — earth of the mountains 

misty-topt ! 
Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just 

tinged with blue ! 
Earth of shine and dark motthng the tide of the 

river ! 
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and 

clearer for my sake ! 
Far-swooping elbow'd earth — rich apple-blossom' d 

earth ! 
Smile, for your lover comes. 

W. Whitman. 
172 




^^ 



J 



WALT WHITMAN 



THE ASCENT. 



J^e descent 

From " Song of Myself." 

7 AM an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an 
encloser of things to be. 

My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, 
On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches 

between the steps, 
All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount. 

Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, 

Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I 

was even there, 
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the 

lethargic mist. 
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid 

carbon. 

Long I was hugg'd close — long and long. 

Immense have been the preparations for me. 
Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me. 

173 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like 

cheerful boatmen, 
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, 
They sent influences to look after what was to hold 



Before I was born out of my mother generations 

guided me, 
My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could 

overlay it. 

For it the nebula cohered to an orb, 
The long slow strata piled to rest it on, 
Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, 
Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths 
and deposited it with care. 

All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete 

and delight me, 
Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul. 

W. Whitman. 



174 



/- 



TO THE DANDELION. 



to t^e ©an^efion. 



Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold, 

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they 
An Eldorado in the grass have found, 
Which not the rich earth's ample round 

May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me 

Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease ; 

'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 
Though most hearts never understand 

To take it at God's value, but pass by 

The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy ; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime ; 

^75 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



The eyes thou givest me 

Are in the heart, and heed not space or time : 
Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 

Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment 

In the white lily's breezy tent, 

His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst 

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass. 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 

Where, as the breezes pass, 
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways. 

Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass. 
Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue 
That from the distance sparkle through 

Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, 

Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with 
thee; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, 

Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long. 

And I, secure in childish piety, 
Listened as if I heard an angel sing 
With news from heaven, which he could bring 

176 



TO THE DANDELION. 



Fresh every day to my untainted ears 

When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 

How like a prodigal doth Nature seem, 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art 1 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human heart, 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, 
Did we but pay the love we owe. 

And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 

On all these living pages of God's book. 

J. R. Lowell. 



17? 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



$9^ C^^mfieteb Qtaufifug. 

n^HIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, 
Sails the unshadowed main, — 
The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, 

And coral reefs lie bare. 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming 
hair. 



Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 

Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 

And every chambered cell. 
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell. 

Before thee lies revealed, — 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! 

Year after year beheld the silent toil 

That spread his lustrous coil ; 

Still, as the spiral grew. 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new, 

178 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. 



Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 

Built up its idle door, 
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old 



Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, 

Child of the wandering sea. 

Cast from her lap, forlorn ! 
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 

While on mine ear it rings, 
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice 
that sings : 



Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 

As the swift seasons roll ! 

Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

Till thou at length art free. 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! 
O. W. Holmes. 



179 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



r\ MESSENGER, art thou the king, or I ? 
Thou dalliest outside the palace gate 
Till on thine idle armor lie the late 
And heavy dews. The morn's bright scornful eye 
Reminds thee ; then, in subtle mockery. 

Thou smilest at the window where I wait, 
Who bade thee ride for life. In empty state 
My days go on, while false hours prophesy 
Thy quick return ; at last, in sad despair, 
I cease to bid thee, leave thee free as air ; 

When lo, thou stand'st before me glad and fleet. 
And lay'st undreamed-of treasures at my feet. 
Ah ! messenger, thy royal blood to buy 
I am too poor. Thou art the king, not I. 

H. H. Jackson. 



1 80 



STANZAS. 



'T^HOUGHT is deeper than all speech. 

Feeling deeper than all thought ; 
Souls to souls can never teach 

What unto themselves was taught. 

We are spirits clad in veils : 
Man by man was never seen ; 

All our deep communing fails 
To remove the shadowy screen. 

Heart to heart was never known ; 

Mind with mind did never meet ; 
We are columns left alone 

Of a temple once complete. 

Like the stars that gem the sky, 
Far apart, though seeming near, 

In our light we scattered lie ; 
All is thus but starlight here. 

What is social company 

But a babbling summer stream ? 
What our wise philosophy 

But the glancing of a dream ? 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Only when the sun of love 

Melts the scattered stars of thought ; 
Only when we live above 

What the dim-eyed world hath taught ; 

Only when our souls are fed 

By the Fount which gave them birth, 
And by inspiration led, 

Which they never drew from earth, 

We, like parted drops of rain 
Swelling till they meet and run. 

Shall be all absorbed again, 
Melting, flowing into one. 

C P. Cranch. 



x82 



CORONATION. 



Coronation. 

A T the king's gate the subtle noon 
Wove filmy yellow nets of sun ; 
Into the drowsy snare too soon 
The guards fell one by one. 

Through the king's gate, unquestioned then, 
A beggar went, and laughed, " This brings 

Me chance, at last, to see if men 
Fare better, being kings." 

The king sat bowed beneath his crown, 
Propping his face with listless hand ; 

Watching the hour-glass sifting down 
Too slow its shining sand. 

" Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me ? " 
The beggar turned, and, pitying, 

Replied, like one in dream, " Of thee, 
Nothing. I want the king." 

Uprose the king, and from his head 
Shook off the crown and threw it by. 

" O man, thou must have known," he said, 
" A greater king than I." 

183 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Through all the gates, unquestioned then. 
Went king and beggar hand in hand. 

Whispered the king, " Shall I know when 
Before his throne I stand ? " 

The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste 
Were wiping from the king's hot brow 

The crimson lines the crown had traced. 
" This is his presence now." 

At the king's gate the crafty noon 

Unwove its yellow nets of sun ; 
Out of their sleep in terror soon 

The guards waked one by one. 

" Ho here ! Ho there ! Has no man seen 
The king? " The cry ran to and fro ; 

Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween, 
The laugh that free men know. 

On the king's gate the moss grew gray ; 

The king came not. They called him dead ; 
And made his eldest son one day 

Slave in his father's stead. 

H. H. Jackson. 



184 



ON A BUST OF DANTE. 



&n a (§mi of ^anU. 

QEE, from this counterfeit of him 

Whom Arno shall remember long. 
How stern of lineament, how grim, 

The father was of Tuscan song : 
There but the burning sense of wrong, 

Perpetual care and scorn, abide ; 
Small friendship for the lordly throng ; 

Distrust of all the world beside. 

Faithful if this wan image be, 

No dream his life was, — but a fight; 
Could any Beatrice see 

A lover in that anchorite ? 
To that cold Ghibelline's gloomy sight 

Who could have guessed the visions came 
Of Beauty, veiled with heavenly light. 

In circles of eternal flame ? 

The lips as Cumas's cavern close. 

The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin. 

The rigid front, almost morose. 
But for the patient hope within, 

185 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Declare a life whose course hath been 
Unsullied still, though still severe ; 

Which, through the wavering days of sin, 
Kept itself icy-chaste and clear. 

Not wholly such his haggard look 

When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed. 
With no companion save his book. 

To Corvo's hushed monastic shade ; 
Where, as the Benedictine laid 

His palm upon the convent's guest, 
The single boon for which he prayed 

Was peace, that pilgrim's one request. 

Peace dwells not here, — this rugged face 

Betrays no spirit of repose ; 
The sullen warrior sole we trace, 

The marble man of many woes. 
Such was his mien when first arose 

The thought of that strange tale divine. 
When hell he peopled with his foes. 

The scourge of many a guilty line. 

War to the last he waged with all 
The tyrant canker-worms of earth ; 

Baron and duke, in hold and hall, 

Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth ; 

i86 



ON A BUST OF DANTE. 

He used Rome's harlot for his mirth ; 

Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime ; 
But valiant souls of knightly worth 

Transmitted to the rolls of Time. 

O Time ! whose verdicts mock our own. 

The only righteous judge art thou ; 
That poor old exile, sad and lone, 

Is Latium's other Virgil now : 
Before his name the nations bow; 

His words are parcel of mankind, 
Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow. 

The marks have sunk of Dante's mind. 
T. W. Parsons 



187 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



6 ^apfainl (Sfl)? Cc^pfainl 

Lines written on the occasion of Lincoln's death. 

f^ CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is 

done, 
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we 

sought is won, 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all 

exulting, 
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim 
and daring ; 

But O heart! heart! heart! 
O the bleeding drops of red, 
Where on the deck my Captain lies 
Fallen cold and dead. 

O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; 
Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the 

bugle trills, 
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the 

shores a-crowding, 
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager 

faces turning ; 




EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN 



O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 

Here Captain ! dear father ! 
This arm beneath your head ! 

It is some dream that on the deck, 
You've fallen cold and dead. 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and 

still, 
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor 

will. 
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed 

and done, 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object 
won; 

Exult O shores, and ring O bells ! 
But I with mournful tread 

Walk the deck my Captain lies, 
Fallen cold and dead. 

W. Whitman. 



189 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



(Enbi^mion. 

'T^HE rising moon has hid the stars ; 
Her level rays, like golden bars, 
Lie on the landscape green, 
With shadows brown between. 

And silver white the river gleams, 
As if Diana, in her dreams, 

Had dropt her silver bow 

Upon the meadows low. 

On such a tranquil night as this, 

She woke Endymion with a kiss, 

When, sleeping in the grove, 

He dreamed not of her love. 

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 
Love gives itself, but is not bought ; 
Nor voice, nor sound betrays 
Its deep, impassioned gaze. 

It comes, — the beautiful, the free, 
The crown of all humanity, — 

In silence and alone 

To seek the elected one. 

190 



ENDYMION. 



It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep 
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, 

And kisses the closed eyes 

Of him who slumbering lies. 

O weary hearts ! O slumbering eyes ! 
O drooping souls, whose destinies 

Are fraught with fear and pain, 

Ye shall be loved again ! 

No one is so accursed by fate, 
No one so utterly desolate. 

But some heart, though unknown, 

Responds unto his own. 

Responds, — as if with unseen wings 
An angel touched its quivering strings ; 

And whispers, in its song, 
" Where hast thou stayed so long ? " 

H. W. Longfellow. 



191 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



TV/j" Y heart, I cannot still it, 

Nest that had song-birds in it.; 
And when the last shall go, 
The dreary days, to fill it. 
Instead of lark or linnet. 
Shall whirl dead leaves and snow. 

Had they been swallows only, 
Without the passion stronger 
That skyward longs and sings, — 
Woe's me, I shall be lonely 
When I can feel no longer 
The impatience of their wings ! 

A moment, sweet delusion. 

Like birds the brown leaves hover ; 

But it will not be long 

Before their wild confusion 

Fall wavering down to cover 

The poet and his song. 

J. R. Lowell. 



192 



BIRDS. 



T>IRDS are singing round my window, 

Tunes the sweetest ever heard, 
And I hang my cage there daily, 
But I never catch a bird. 

So with thoughts my brain is peopled, 
And they sing there all day long : 

But they will not fold their pinions 
In the little cage of Song. 

R. H. Stoddard. 



^From "The Poems of R. H. Stoddard," copyright, 1880, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



pRITHEE tell me, Dimple-Chin, 
At what age does Love begin ? 
Your blue eyes have scarcely seen 
Summers three, my fairy queen, 
But a miracle of sweets, 
Soft approaches, sly retreats, 
Show the little archer there. 
Hidden in your pretty hair ; 
When didst learn a heart to win? 
Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin ! 

" Oh ! " the rosy lips reply, 
" I can't tell you if I try. 
'Tis so long I can't remember : 
Ask some younger lass than I ! " 

Tell, oh, tell me, Grizzled-Face, 
Do your heart and head keep pace ? 
When does hoary Love expire, 
When do frosts put out the fire ? 
Can its embers burn below 
All that chill December snow ? 

194 



TOUJOURS AMOUR. 



Care you still soft hands to press, 
Bonny heads to smooth and bless ? 
When does Love give up the chase ? 
Tell, oh, tell me, Grizzled-Face ! 

" Ah ! " the wise old lips reply, 

" Youth may pass and strength may die ; 

But of Love I can't foretoken : 

Ask some older sage than I ! " 

E. C. Stedman. 



195 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T T was nothing but a rose I gave her, — 

Nothing but a rose 
Any wind might rob of half its savor, 
Any wind that blows. 

When she took it from my trembling fingers 

With a hand as chill, — 
Ah, the flying touch upon them lingers. 

Stays, and thrills them still ! 

Withered, faded, pressed between the pages, 

Crumpled fold on fold, — 
Once it lay upon her breast, and ages 

Cannot make it old ! 

H. P. Spofford. 



IQ6- 




HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD 



NO MORE. 



(Jto (Store. 

'T* HIS is the Burden of the Heart, 

The Burden that it always bore ; 
We live to love ; we meet to part ; 

And part to meet on earth No More: 
We clasp each other to the heart, 

And part to meet on earth No MorCo 

There is a time for tears to start, — 
For dews to fall and larks to soar : 

The Time for Tears, is when we part 
To meet upon the earth No More : 

The Time for Tears, is when we part 
To meet on this wide earth — No More. 

B. F. WiLLSON. 



197 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



to a ^oung (Bitf %i^inQ. 

WITH A GIFT OF FRESH PALM-LEAVES. 

'T^HIS is Palm Sunday: mindful of the day, 

I bring palm branches, found upon my way : 
But these will wither ; thine shall never die, — 
The sacred palms thou bearest to the sky ! 
Dear little saint, though but a child in years, 
Older in wisdom than my gray compeers ! 
IVe doubt and tremble, — we, with bated breath, 
Talk of this mystery of life and death : 
Thou, strong in faith, art gifted to conceive 
Beyond thy years, and teach us to believe ! 

Then take my palms, triumphal, to thy home, 
Gentle white palmer, never more to roam ! 
Only, sweet sister, give me, ere thou go'st, 
Thy benediction, — for my love thou know'st ! 
We, too, are pilgrims, travelling towards the shrine i 
Pray that our pilgrimage may end like thine ! 

T. W. Parsons. 



198 



THE PORT OF SHIPS. 



t^z ^ott of ^^ipB.' 

"DEHIND him lay the gray Azores, 
Behind the Gates of Hercules ; 
Before him not the ghost of shores, 

Before him only shoreless seas. 
The good mate said : " Now must we pray, 

For lo ! the very stars are gone. 
Brave Adm'ral speak, — what shall I say ? " 

" Why, say, ' Sail on ! Sail on ! and on ! ' " 

" My men grow mutinous day by day ; 

My men grow ghastly, wan and weak." 
The stout mate thought of home ; a spray 

Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. 
" What shall I say, brave Adm'ral, say, 

If we sight naught but seas at dawn ? " 
" Why, you shall say, at break of day, 

' Sail on ! Sail on ! Sail on ! and on ! ' " 

They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, 
Until at last the blanched mate said : 

" Why, now not even God would know 
Should I and all my men fall dead. 

I From The Complete Poetical Works of Joaquin Miller. 
199 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



These very winds forget their way, 

For God from these dread seas is gone. 

Now speak, brave Adm'ral ; speak, and say — " 
He said: " Sail on ! Sail on ! and on ! " 

They sailed ! They sailed ! Then spake the mate : 

" This mad sea shows its teeth to-night ; 
He curls his lip, he lies in wait 

With lifted teeth, as if to bite ! 
Brave Adm'ral, say but one good word, — 

What shall we do when hope is gone ? " 
The words leaped as a leaping sword : 

" Sail on ! Sail on ! Sail on ! and on ! " 

C. H. Miller. 




CINCINNATUS HINER (JOAQUIN) MILLER 



PARADISI GLORIA. 



nPHERE is a city, builded by no hand, 

And unapproachable by sea or shore, 
And unassailable by any band 

Of storming soldiery for evermore. 

There we no longer shall divide our time 
By acts or pleasures, — doing petty things 

Of work or warfare, merchandise or rhyme ; 
But we shall sit beside the silver springs 

That flow from God's own footstool, and behold 
Sages and martyrs, and those blessed few 

Who loved us once and were beloved of old, 
To dwell with them and walk with them anew, 

In alternations of sublime repose, 
Musical motion, the perpetual play 

Of every faculty that Heaven bestows 

Through the bright, busy, and eternal day. 
T. W. Parsons. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS, 



T N the summer even, 

While yet the dew was hoar, 
I went plucking purple pansies, 

Till my love should come to shore. 
The fishing-lights their dances 

Were keeping out at sea. 
And come, I sung, my true love ! 

Come hasten home to me ! 

But the sea, it fell a-moaning, 

And the white gulls rocked thereon ; 
And the young moon dropped from heaven, 

And the lights hid one by one. 
All silently their glances 

Slipped down the cruel sea. 
And wait ! cried the night and wind and 
storm, — 

Wait, till I come to thee ! 

H. P. Spofford. 



BOOK THIRD. 



THE FOOL'S PRAYER. 



T^HE royal feast was done; the King 

Sought some new sport to banish care; 
And to his jester cried : " Sir Fool, 

Kneel now, and make for us a prayer ! " 

The jester doffed his cap and bells, 
And stood the mocking court before ; 

They could not see the bitter smile 
Behind the painted grin he wore. 

He bowed his head, and bent his knee 
Upon the monarch's silken stool ; 

His pleading voice arose : " O Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool ! 

" No pity, Lord, could change the heart 
From red with wrong to white as wool ; 

The rod must heal the sin : but. Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool ! 

" 'Tis not by guilt the onward sweep 
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay ; 

'Tis by our follies that so long 

We hold the earth from heaven away. 

205 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

" These clumsy feet, still in the mire, 
Go crushing blossoms without end ; 

These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust 
Among the heart-strings of a friend. 

" The ill-timed truth we might have kept — 
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung ? 

The word we had not sense to say — 
Who knows how grandly it had rung ? 

" Our faults no tenderness should ask. 

The chastening stripes must cleanse them all ; 

But for our blunders — oh, in shame 
Before the eyes of heaven we fall. 

" Earth bears no balsam for mistakes ; 

Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool 
That did his will ; but Thou, O Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a fool ! " 

The room was hushed ; in silence rose 
The King, and sought his gardens cool. 

And walked apart, and murmured low, 
" Be merciful to me, a fool ! " 

E. R. Sill. 



206 



ON THE LIFE -MASK OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



dn t^e feife^masg of ^fira^am £incofn. 

T^HIS bronze doth keep the very form and mold 
Of our great martyr's face. Yes, this is he : 
That brow all wisdom, all benignity ; 

That human, humorous mouth ; those cheeks that 
hold 

Like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold ; 
That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea 
For storms to beat on ; the lone agony 

Those silent, patient lips too well foretold. 

Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men 
As might some prophet of the elder day, — 
Brooding above the tempest and the fray 

With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken. 
A power was his beyond the touch of art 
Or armed strength : his pure and mighty heart. 
R. W. Gilder. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



^ong. 



"XTEARS have flown since I knew thee first, 

And I know thee as water is known of thirst : 
Yet I knew thee of old at the first sweet sight, 
And thou art strange to me, Love, to-night. 

R. W. Gilder. 



208 



TO A DEAD WOMAI^. 



to a ®eab Woman/ 

"^ OT a kiss in life ; but one kiss, at life's end, 

I have set on the face of Death in trust for 
thee. 
Through long years keep it fresh on thy lips, O 
friend ! 
At the gate of Silence give it back to me. 

H. C. BUNNER, 



* From "The Poems of H. C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, i 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 

^09 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



n^HREE roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed 

down 
Each with its loveliness as with a crown, 
Drooped in a florist's window in a town. 

The first a lover bought. It lay at rest. 

Like flower on flower, that night, on Beauty's breast 

The second rose, as virginal and fair. 
Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair. 

The third, a widow, with new grief made wild 
Shut in the icy palm of her dead chiM. 

T. B. Aldrich. 



THE KINGS. 



A MAN said unto his angel : 

" My spirits are fallen thro', 
And I cannot carry this battle ; 
O brother ! what shall I do ? 

" The terrible Kings are on me, 
With spears that are deadly bright 
Against me so from the cradle 
Do fate and my fathers fight." 

Then said to the man his angel; 
" Thou wavering, foolish soul, 
Back to the ranks ! What matter 
To win or to lose the whole, 

"As judged by the little judges 
Who hearken not well, nor see ? 
Not thus, by the outer issue, 
The Wise shall interpret thee. 

" Thy will is the very, the only, 
The solemn event of things ; 
The weakest of hearts defying 
Is stronger than all these Kings. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



" Tho' out of the past they gather, 
Mind's Doubt and bodily Pain, 
And pallid Thirst of the Spirit 
That is kin to the other twain, 

" And Grief, in a cloud of banners, 
And ringletted Vain Desires, 
And Vice with the spoils upon him 
Of thee and thy beaten sires, 

" While Kings of eternal evil 
Yet darken the hills about, 
Thy part is with broken sabre 
To rise on the last redoubt ; 

>' To fear not sensible failure, 
Nor covet the game at all, 
But fighting, fighting, fighting, 
Die, driven against the wall ! " 

L. I. GUINEY. 




LOUISE IiMOGEN GUINEY 



.J 



TRIUMPH. 



npHE dawn came in through the bars of 
the blind, — 

And the winter's dawn is gray, — 
And said, " However you cheat your mind. 

The hours are flying away." 

A ghost of a dawn, and pale, and weak, — 

" Has the sun a heart," I said, 
" To throw a morning flush on the cheek 

Whence a fairer flush has fled ? " 

As a gray rose-leaf that is fading white 
Was the cheek where I set my kiss ; 

And on that side of the bed all night 
Death had watched, and I on this. 

I kissed her lips, they were half apart, 
Yet they made no answering sign ; 

Death's hand was on her failing heart, 
And his eyes said, " She is mine." 

I From " The Poems of H. C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, 1896, 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 

213 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

I set my lips on the blue-veined lid, 
Half-veiled by her death-damp hair; 

And oh, for the violet depths it hid 
And the light I longed for there ! 

Faint day and the fainter life awoke. 

And the night was overpast; 
And I said, " Though never in life you spoke 

Oh, speak with a look at last ! " 

For the space of a heart-beat fluttered her breath. 

As a bird's wing spread to flee ; 
She turned her weary arms to Death, 

And the light of her eyes to me. 

H. C. BUNNER. 



214 



EVENING SONG. 



T OOK off, dear Love, across the sallow sands, 
And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea, 
How long they kiss in sight of all the lands. 
Ah ! longer, longer, we. 

Now in the sea's red vintage melts the sun, 
As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine, 

And Cleopatra night drinks all. 'Tis done, 
Love, lay thine hand in mine. 

Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart ; 

Glimmer, ye waves, round else unlighted sands. 
O night ! divorce our sun and sky apart. 

Never our lips, our hands. 

S. Lanier. 



I From " Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyright, 1884, 1891, by Mary 
D. Lanier, published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



215 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



npHE wind from out the west is blowing, 

The homeward-wandering cows are lowing ^ 
Dark grow the pine-woods, dark and drear, — 
The woods that bring the sunset near. 

When o'er wide seas the sun declines, 
Far off its fading glory shines. 
Far off, sublime, and full of fear, — 
The pine-woods bring the sunset near. 

This house that looks to east, to west, 
This, dear one, is our home, our rest ; 
Yonder the stormy sea, and here 
The woods that bring the sunset near. 

R. W. Gilder. 



216 



MY LOVE FOR THEE. 



j\/r Y love for thee doth march hke armed men, 
Against a queenly city they would take. 

Along the army's front its banners shake ; 
Across the mountain and the sun-smit plain 
It steadfast sweeps as sweeps the steadfast rain ; 

And now the trumpet makes the still air quake, 

And now the thundering cannon doth awake 
Echo on echo, echoing loud again. 
But, lo! the conquest higher than bard e'er sung: 

Instead of answering cannon, proud surrender ! 
Joyful the iron gates are open flung 

And, for the conqueror, welcome gay and tender ! 
Oh, bright the invader's path with tribute flowers, 
While comrade flags flame forth on wall and towers ! 

R. W. Gilder. 



217 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



**§m in t^t feo>?e 3 txmir 

CTILL in thy love I trust, 

Supreme o'er death, since deathless is thy 
essence ; 
For, putting off the dust, 
Thou hast but blest me with a nearer presence. 

And so, for this, for all, 

I breathe no selfish plaint, no faithless chiding ; 

On me the snowflakes fall. 

But thou hast gained a summer all-abiding. 

Striking a plaintive string. 
Like some poor harper at a palace portal, 
I wait without and sing. 

While those I love glide in and dwell immortal. 
A. A. Fields. 



2lS 



THE FUTURE. 



AIT" HAT may we take into the vast Forever ? 

That marble door 
Admits no fruit of all our long endeavor, 

No fame-wreathed crown we wore, 

No garnered lore. 

What can we bear beyond the unknown portal ? 

No gold, no gains 
Of all our toiling : in the life immortal 

No hoarded wealth remains. 

Nor gilds, nor stains. 

Naked from out that far abyss behind us 

We entered here : 
No word came with our coming, to remind us 

What wondrous world was near, 

No hope, no fear. 

Into the silent, starless Night before us, 

Naked we glide : 
No hand has mapped the constellations o'er us, 

No comrade at our side, 

No chart, no guide. 

219 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Yet fearless toward that midnight, black and 
hollow, 
Our footsteps fare : 
The beckoning of a Father's hand we follow — 
His love alone is there, 
No curse, no care. 

E. R. Sill. 



PRESCIENCE. 



(Jprescience. 

'T^HE new moon hung in the sky, 
The sun was low in the west, 
And my betrothed and I 

In the churchyard paused to rest- 
Happy maiden and lover, 
Dreaming the old dream over : 
The light winds wandered by, 

And robins chirped from the nest. 

And lo ! in the meadow-sweet 

Was the grave of a little child. 
With a crumbling stone at the feet, 
And the ivy running wild — 
Tangled ivy and clover 
Folding it over and over : 
Close to my sweetheart's feet 
Was the little mound up-piled. 

Stricken with nameless fears, 
She shrank and clung to me, 

And her eyes were filled with tears 
For a sorrow I did not see : 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Lightly the winds were blowing, 
Softly her tears were flowing — 
Tears for the unknown years 
And a sorrow that was to be ! 

T. B. Aldrich. 




Reproduced, by permission, from " A Pair of Patient Lovers." — Copyright, 1901, by 
Harper & Brothers. 



WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS. 



IN AUGUST. 



3n ^UQtxst. 

A LL the long August afternoon, 
The little drowsy stream 
Whispers a melancholy tune, 
As if it dreamed of June 
And whispered in its dream. 

The thistles show beyond the brook 
Dust on their down and bloom, 

And out of many a weed-grown nook 

The aster-flowers look 

With eyes of tender gloom. 

The silent orchard aisles are sweet 

With smell of ripening fruit. 
Through the sere grass, in shy retreat. 
Flutter, at coming feet. 

The robins strange and mute. 

There is no wind to stir the leaves, 

The harsh leaves overhead ; 
Only the querulous cricket grieves, 
And shrilling locust weaves 

A song of Summer dead. 

W. D. HOWELLS. 

223 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



t^af ®ai? ^ou Came. 

C UGH special sweetness was about 

That day God sent you here, 
I knew the lavender was out, 
And it was mid of year. 

Their common way the great winds blew. 

The ships sailed out to sea ; 
Yet ere that day was spent I knew 

Mine own had come to me. 

As after song some snatch of tune 

Lurks still in grass or bough, 
So, somewhat of the end o' June 

Lurks in each weather now. 

The young year sets the buds astir, 

The old year strips the trees ; 
But ever in my lavender 

I hear the brawling bees. 

L. W. Reese„ 



224 



DE SHEEPFOL'. 
A NEGRO MELODY. 

T^E massa ob de sheepfol', 

Dat guards de sheepfol' bin, 

Look out in de gloom erin' meadows^ 

Wha'r de long night rain begin — 

So he call to de hirelin' shepa'd, 
" Is my sheep, is dey all come in ? " 

Oh, den, says de hirelin' shepa'd : 
" Dey's some, dey's black and thin, 

And some, dey's po' ol' wedda's ; 

But de res', dey's all brung in. 

But de res', dey's all brung in." 

Den de massa ob de sheepfol', 

Dat guards de sheepfol' bin, 

Goes down in de gloomerin' meadows, 

Wha'r de long night rain begin — 

So he le' down de ba's ob de sheepfol', 

Callin' sof, " Come in. Come in." 

Callin' sof, " Come in. Come in." 

Den up t'ro' de gloomerin' meadows, 
T'ro' de col' night rain and win', 

225 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



And up t'ro' de gloomerin' rain-paf, 
Wha'r de sleet fa' pie'cin' thin, 
De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol', 
Dey all comes gadderin' in. 
De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol', 
Dey all comes gadderin' in. 

S. P. McL. Greene 



226 




WAITING. 



^aifirxQ. 



CERENE, I fold my hands and wait, 
Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea ; 
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, 
For lo ! my own shall come to me. 

I stay my haste, I make delays, 
For what avails this eager pace ? 

I stand amid the eternal ways, 
And what is mine shall know my face. 

Asleep, awake, by night or day, 
The friends I seek are seeking me ; 

No wind can drive my bark astray, 
Nor change the tide of destiny. 

What matter if I stand alone ? 

I wait with joy the coming years ; 
My heart shall reap where it has sown, 

And garner up its fruit of tears. 

The waters know their own and draw 
The brook that springs in yonder height; 

So flows the good with equal law 
Unto the soul of pure dehght. 

227 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



The stars come nightly to the sky ; 

The tidal wave unto the sea ; 
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, 

Can keep my own away from me. 

J. Burroughs. 



22S 




RICHARD WATSON GILDER 



THE FLIGHT. 



T TPON a cloud among the stars we stood. 

The angel raised his hand and looked and said. 

" Which world, of all yon starry myriad 
Shall we make wing to ? " The still solitude 
Became a harp whereon his voice and mood 

Made spheral music round his haloed head. 

I spake — for then I had not long been dead — 
" Let me look round upon the vasts, and brood 
A moment on these orbs ere I decide. . . . 

What is yon lower star that beauteous shines 

And with soft splendor now incarnadines 
Our wings ? — There would I go and there abide." 

He smiled as one who some child's thought 
divines : 
" That is the world where yesternight you died." 

L. Mifflin. 



229 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T^HERE is something in the autumn that is native 

to my blood — 
Touch of manner, hint of mood ; 
And my heart is like a rhyme, 

With the yellow and the purple and the crimson 
keeping time. 

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry 

Of bugles going by. 

And my lonely spirit thrills 

To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills. 

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood 

astir ; 
We must rise and follow her, 
When from every hill of flame 
She calls and calls each vagabond by name. 

B. Carman. 



230 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 



feittfe (jBoi? ®fue.' 

npHE little toy dog is covered with dust, 

But sturdy and stanch he stands ; 
And the little toy soldier is red with rust, 

And his musket moulds in his hands. 
Time was when the little toy dog was new 

And the soldier was passing fair, 
And that was the time when our Little Boy 
Blue 
Kissed them and put them there. 

" Now, don't you go till I come," he said, 

" And don't you make any noise ! " 
So toddling off to his trundle-bed 

He dreampt of the pretty toys. 
And as he was dreaming, an angel song 

Awakened our Little Boy Blue, — 
Oh, the years are many, the years are long. 

But the little toy friends are true. 

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, 
Each in the same old place, 

* From " A Little Book of Western Verse," copyright, 1889, by 
Eugene Field, published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 

231 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Awaiting the touch of a little hand, 

The smile of a little face. 
And they wonder, as waiting these long years 
through, 
In the dust of that little chair, 
What has become of our Little Boy Blue 
Since he kissed them and put them there. 
E. Field. 



232 



STRONG AS DEATH. 



f~\ DEATH, when thou shalt come to me 
From out thy dark, where she is now. 
Come not with graveyard smell on thee, 
Or withered roses on thy brow. 

Come not, O Death, with hollow tone. 
And soundless step, and clammy hand — 

Lo, I am now no less alone 

Than in thy desolate, doubtful land ; 

But with that sweet and subtle scent 

That ever clung about her (such 
As with all things she brushed was blent) ; 

And with her quick and tender touch. 

With the dim gold that lit her hair, 

Crown thyself. Death ; let fall thy tread 

So light that I may dream her there, 
And turn upon my dying bed. 

I From "The Poems of H. C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, iSyo, 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

And through my chilling veins shall flame 
My love, as though beneath her breath ; 

And in her voice but call my name, 
And I will follow thee, O Death. 

H. C. BUNNER. 



234 



THE WHITE JESSAMINE. 



T KNEW she lay above me, 

Where the casement all the night 
Shone, softened with a phosphor glow 

Of sympathetic light, 
And that her fledgling spirit pure 
Was pluming fast for flight. 

Each tendril throbbed and quickened 

As I nightly climbed apace, 
And could scarce restrain the blossoms 

When, anear the destined place, 
Her gentle whisper thrilled me 

Ere I gazed upon her face. 

I waited, darkling, till the dawn 

Should touch me into bloom. 
While all my being panted 

To outpour its first perfume, 
When, lo ! a paler flower than mine 

Had blossomed in the gloom ! 

J. B. Tabb. 



235 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



t^e gouge of ®eaf9. 

"Vr OT a hand has lifted the latchet 

Since she went out of the door- 
No footstep shall cross the threshold, 
Since she can come in no more. 



There is rust upon locks and hinges, 
And mold and blight on the walls. 

And silence faints in the chambers. 
And darkness waits in the halls — 

Waits as all things have waited 
Since she went, that day of spring, 

Borne in her pallid splendor 

To dwell in the Court of the King : 

With lilies on brow and bosom, 
With robes of silken sheen, 

And her wonderful, frozen beauty, 
The lihes and silk between. 

Red roses she left behind her. 
But they died long, long ago — 

236 




LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON 



THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 



'Twas the odorous ghost of a blossom 
That seemed through the dusk to glow. 

The garments she left mock the shadows 

With hints of womanly grace, 
And her image swims in the mirror 

That was so used to her face. 

The birds make insolent music 
Where the sunshine riots outside, 

And the winds are merry and wanton 
With the summer's pomp and pride. 

But into this desolate mansion, 
Where Love has closed the door, 

Nor sunshine nor summer shall enter, 
Since she can come in no more. 

L. C. MOULTON 



237 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



^ Ztopicai (gtorning at ^ea^ 

QKY in its lucent splendor lifted 

Higher than cloud can be ; 
Air with no breath of earth to stain it, 
Pure on the perfect sea. 

Crests that touch and tilt each other, 

Jostling as they comb ; 
Delicate crash of tinkling water, 

Broken in pearling foam. 

Flashings — or is it the pinewood's whispers, 

Babble of brooks unseen, 
Laughter of winds when they find the blossoms 

Brushing aside the green ? 

Waves that dip, and dash, and sparkle ; 

Foam-wreaths slipping by, 
Soft as a snow of broken roses 

Afloat over mirrored sky. 

Off to the east the steady sun-track 
Golden meshes fill — 

238 



A TROPICAL MORNING AT SEA, 

Webs of fire, that lace and tangle, 
Never a moment still. 

Liquid palms but clap together, 
Fountains, flower-like, grow — 

Limpid bells on stems of silver — 
Out of a slope of snow. 

Sea-depths, blue as the blue of violets — 

Blue as a summer sky, 
When you blink at its arch sprung over 

Where in the grass you lie. 

Dimly an orange bit of rainbow 
Burns where the low west clears, 

Broken in air, like a passionate promise 
Born of a moment's tears. 

Thinned to amber, rimmed with silver, 

Clouds in the distance dwell, 
Clouds that are cool, for all their color, 

Pure as a rose-lipped shell. 

Fleets of wool in the upper heavens 

Gossamer wings unfurl ; 
Sailing so high they seem but sleeping 

Over yon bar of pearl. 

239 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

What would the great world lose, I wonder — 

Would it be missed or no — 
If we stayed in the opal morning, 

Floating forever so ? 

Swung to sleep by the swaying water, 

Only to dream all day — 
Blow, salt wind from the north upstarting. 

Scatter such dreams away ! 

E. R. Sill. 



240 



MEMORY. 




TV/r Y mind lets go a thousand things, 

Like dates of wars and deaths of kings, 
And yet recalls the very hour — 
'Twas noon by yonder village tower, 
And on the last blue noon in May — 
The wind came briskly up this way. 
Crisping the brook beside the road ; 
Then, pausing here, set down its load 
Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly 
Two petals from that wild-rose tree. 

T. B. Aldrich. 



241 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



(^ (gloob. 

A BLIGHT, a gloom, I know not what, has crept 

upon my gladness — 
Some vague, remote ancestral touch of sorrow, or of 

madness ; 
A fear that is not fear, a pain that has not pain's in- 
sistence ; 
A sense of longing, or of loss, in some foregone ex- 
istence ; 
A subtle hurt that never pen has writ nor tongue has 
spoken — 
v; Such hurt perchance as Nature feels when a blos- 
// somed bough is broken, 

T. B. Aldrich. 



242 



THE WAY TO ARCADY. 



/^^ tdt Wa^ to (^trcabi?/ 

/^^, whafs the way to Arcady, 

To A ready ^ to Arcady j 
Oh, whafs the way to Arcady, 
Where all the leaves are merry f 

Oh, what's the way to Arcady ? 
The spring is rustling in the tree — 
The tree the wind is blowing through -= 

It sets the blossoms flickering white. 
I knew not skies could burn so blue 

Nor any breezes blow so light. 
They blow an old-time way for me, 
Across the world to Arcady. 

Oh, what's the way to Arcady ? 
Sir Poet, with the rusty coat, 
Quit mocking of the song-bird's note. 
How have you heart for any tune. 
You with the wayworn russet shoon ? 
Your scrip, a-swinging by your side, 
Gapes with a gaunt mouth hungry-wide. 
I'll brim it well with pieces red. 
If you will tell the way to tread.^ 

^ From " The Poems of H. C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, 1896, 
by Charies Scribner's Sons. 

243 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Oh, I am bound for Arcady, 
And if you but keep pace with me 
You tread the way to Arcady. 

And where away lies Arcady, 

And how long yet may the journey be ? 

Ah, that (quoth he) / do not know — 
Across the clover and the snow — 
Across the frost, across the flowers — 
Through summer seconds and wijtter hours. 
Fve trod the way my whole life long, 

And know not now where it may be j 
My guide is but the stir to song. 
That tells me I can not go wrong. 

Or clear or dark the pathway be 

Upon the road to Arcady. 

But how shall I do who cannot sing ? 

I was wont to sing, once on a time — 
There is never an echo now to ring 

Remembrance back to the trick of rhyme. 

^Tis strange you cannot sing (quoth he), 
The folk all sing in Arcady. 

But how may he find Arcady 
Who hath not youth nor melody ? 

244 







fr""*,,,,.^:^'-''^*^.^^ 



HENRY CUYLER BUNNER 



THE WAY TO ARCADY. 



What, know you not, old man (quoth he) — 
Your hair is white, your face is wise — 
That Love must kiss that MortaVs eyes 
Who hopes to see fair Arcady ? 
No gold can buy you entrance there; 
But beggared Love may go all bare — 
No wisdom won with weariness j 
But Love goes in with Folly'' s dress — 
No fame that wit could ever win j 
But only Love may lead Love in 
To Arcady, to Arcady. 



Ah, woe is me, through all my days 
Wisdom and wealth I both have got, 

And fame and name, and great men's praise ; 
But Love, ah, Love ! I have it not. 



There was a time, when life was new — 

But far away, and half forgot — 
I only know her eyes were blue ; 

But Love — I fear I knew it not. 
We did not wed, for lack of gold, ) 
And she is dead, and I am old. 
All things have come since then to me, 
Save Love, ah. Love ! and Arcady. 

245 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Ah^ then I fear we part (quoth he), 
My way'' s for Love and Arcady. 

But you, you fare alone, like me ; 

The gray is likewise in your hair. 

What love have you to lead you there, 
To Arcady, to Arcady? 

Ah^ no, not lonely do I fare j 

My true companion's Memory. 
With Love he fills the Spring-tim.e airj 

With Love he clothes the Winter tree. 
Oh, past this poor horizon's bound 

My song goes straight to one who stajjds - 
Her face all gladdening at the sound — 

To lead me to the Spring-green lands, 

To wander with enlacing hands. 
The songs within my breast that stir 
Are all of her, are all of her. 
My maid is dead long years (quoth he), 
She waits for m,e in Arcady. 

Oh, yon'' s the way to Arcady, 

To Arcady, to Arcady j 
Oh, yon'' s the way to Arcady, 

Where all the leaves are 7nerry. 

H. C. BUNNERo 
246 



EVE'S DAUGHTER. 



J WAITED in the little sunny room : 

The cool breeze waved the window-lace, at play, 
The white rose on the porch was all in bloom, 

And out upon the bay 
I watched the wheeling sea-birds go and come. 

» Such an old friend, — she would not make me stay 

While she bound up her hair." I turned, and lo, 
Danae in her shower ! and fit to slay 

All a man's hoarded prudence at a blow : 
Gold hair, that streamed away 

As round some nymph a sunlit fountain's flow. 

"She would not make me wait!" — but well I 
know 
She took a good half-hour to loose and lay 

Those locks in dazzling disarrangement so ! 

E. R. Sill. 



247 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



fyn an 3ntagfio geab of QJlinetDa. 

"DENEATH the warrior's helm, behold 
The flowing tresses of the woman ! 
Minerva, Pallas, what you will — 

A winsome creature, Greek or Roman. 

Minerva ? No ! 'tis some sly minx 
In cousin's helmet masquerading ; 

If not — then Wisdom was a dame 
For sonnets and for serenading ! 

I thought the goddess cold, austere, 

Not made for love's despairs and blisses : 

Did Pallas wear her hair like that ? 

Was Wisdom's mouth so shaped for kisses ? 

The Nightingale should be her bird, 
And not the Owl, big-eyed and solemn : 

How very fresh she looks, and yet 

She's older far than Trajan's Column ! 

The magic hand that carved this face, 
And set this vine-work round it running, 

Perhaps ere mighty Phidias wrought 
Had lost its subtle skill and cunning. 

248 




THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICR 



ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA. 

Who was he ? Was he glad or sad, 
Who knew to carve in such a fashion ? 

Perchance he graved the dainty head 

For some brown girl that scorned his passion, 

Perchance, in some still garden-place, 
Wh^re neither fount nor tree to-day is, 

He flung the jewel at the feet 

Of Phryne, or perhaps 'twas Lais. 

But he is dust ; we may not know 

His happy or unhappy story : 
Nameless, and dead these centuries. 

His work outlives him — there's his glory ! 

Both man and jewel lay in earth 

Beneath a lava-buried city ; 
The countless summers came and went 

With neither haste, nor hate, nor pity. 

Years blotted out the man, but left 

The jewel fresh as any blossom, 
Till some Visconti dug it up — 

To rise and fall on Mabel's bosom ! 

O nameless brother ! see how Time 
Your gracious handiwork has guarded : 

249 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



See how your loving, patient art 
Has come, at last, to be rewarded. 

Who would not suffer slights of men, 
And pangs of hopeless passion also. 

To have his carven agate-stone 
On such a bosom rise and fall so ! 

T. B. Ald-jIich 



250 



HUNTING-SONG. 



/^H, who would stay indoor, indoor, 

When the horn is on the hill ? {Bugle : Tar- 

antara ! ) 
With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen 

singing. 
And a ten-tined buck to kill ! 

Before the sun goes down, goes down, 

We shall slay the buck of ten ; {Bugle : Tarantara ! ) 

And the priest shall say benison, and we shall ha'e 

venison. 
When we come home again. 

Let him that loves his ease, his ease, 
Keep close and house him fair ; {Btigle : Tarantara ! ) 
He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger 
And the joy of the open air. 

But he that loves the hills, the hills, 

Let him come out to-day ! {Bugle : Tarantara ! ) 

For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are 

baying, 
And the hunt's up, and away ! 

R. HOVEY. 

251 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



parting. 

TV/r Y life closed twice before its close ; 

It yet remains to see 
If Immortality unveil 
A third event to me, 

So huge, so hopeless to conceive, 

As these that twice befell. 
Parting is all we know of heaven, 

And all we need of hell. 

E. Dickinson. 



252 



WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN. 



03?9en tje ^uttan (Boes to 'ispa^an. 

^V\JHEN the Sultan Shah-Zaman 

Goes to the city Ispahan^ 
Even before he gets so far 
As the place where the clustered palm-trees are. 
At the last of the thirty palace-gates, 
The flower of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom, 
Orders a feast in his favorite room — 
Glittering squares of colored ice, 
Sweetened with syrop, tinctured with spice, 
Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates, 
Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces, 
Limes, and citrons, and apricots, 
And wines that are known to Eastern princi?-:^ 
And Nubian slaves, with smoking pots 
Of spiced meats and costliest fish 
And all that the curious palate could wish, 
Pass in and out of the cedarn doors : 
Scattered over mosaic floors 
Are anemones, myrtles, and violets. 
And a musical fountain throws its jets 
Of a hundred colors into the air. 
The dusk Sultana loosens her hair, 

253 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

And stains with the henna-plant the tips 
Of her pointed nails, and bites her lips 
Till they bloom again ; but, alas, that rose 
Not for the Sultan buds and blows ! 
Not for the Sultan Shah-Zaman 
When he goes to the city Ispahan. 

Then at a wave of her sunny hand 
The dancing-girls of Samarcand 
Glide in like shapes from fairy-land, 
Making a sudden mist in air 
Of fleecy veils and floating hair 
And white arms lifted. Orient blood 
Runs in their veins, shines in their eyes. 
And there, in this Eastern Paradise, 
Filled with the breath of sandal-wood, 
And Khoten musk, and aloes and myrrh. 
Sits Rose-in-Bloom on a silk divan, 
Sipping the wines of Astrakhan ; 
And her Arab lover sits with her. 
Thafs when the Sultan Shah-Zaman 
Goes to the city Ispahan. 

Now, when I see an extra light, 
Flaming, flickering on the night 
From my neighbor's casement opposite, 

254 



WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN. 

I know as well as I know to pray, 
I know as well as a tongue can say, 
That the innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman 
Has gone to the city Ispahan. 

T. B. Aldrich 



*fS 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



/"^HAOS, of old, was God's dominion; 

'Twas His beloved child, His own first-born; 

And He was aged ere the thought of mom 
Shook the sheer steeps of black Oblivion. 
Then all the works of darkness being done 

Through countless aeons hopelessly forlorn, 

Out to the very utmost verge and bourn, 
God at the last, reluctant, made the sun. 
He loved His darkness still, for it was old : 

He grieved to see His eldest child take flight ; 

And when His Fiat lux the death-knell tolled, 
As the doomed Darkness backward by Him rolled, 

He snatched a remnant flying into light 

And strewed it with the stars, and called it Night. 

L. Mifflin. 



2S« 




LLOYD MIFFLIN 



HE MADE THE STARS ALSO. 



A 7" AST hollow voids, beyond the utmost reach 
Of suns, their legions withering at His nod, 

Died into day hearing the voice of God ; 
And seas new made, immense and furious, each 
Plunged and rolled forward, feeling for a beach ; 

He walked the waters with effulgence shod. 

This being made, He yearned for worlds to make 
From other chaos out beyond our night — 
For to create is still God's prime delight. 

The large moon, all alone, sailed her dark lake. 

And the first tides were moving to her might ; 
Then Darkness trembled, and began to quake 

Big with the birth of stars, and when He spake 

A million worlds leapt into radiant light ! 

L. Mifflin. 



«S7 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



vyiND of the North, 

Wind of the Norland snows, 
Wind of the winnowed skies and sharp, clear stars - 
Blow cold and keen across the naked hills, 
And crisp the lowland pools with crystal films, 
And blur the casement-squares with glittering ice, 
But go not near my love. 

Wind of the West, 

Wind of the few, far clouds. 

Wind of the gold and crimson sunset lands — 

Blow fresh and pure across the peaks and plains, 

And broaden the blue spaces of the heavens, 

And sway the grasses and the mountain pines, 

But let my dear one rest. 

Wind of the East, 

Wind of the sunrise seas. 

Wind of the clinging mists and gray, harsh rains — ^ 

Blow moist and chill across the wastes of brine. 

And shut the sun out, and the moon and stars. 

And lash the boughs against the dripping eaves, 

Yet keep thou from my love. 

258 



THE FOUR WINDS. 

But thou, sweet wind ! 

Wind of the fragrant South, 

Wind from the bowers of jasmine and of rose — 

Over magnolia glooms and lilied lakes 

And flowering forests come with dewy wings, 

And stir the petals at her feet, and kiss 

The low mound where she lies. 

C. H. LiJDERS. 



259 



// 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



"^r OW at last I am at home — 

Wind abeam and flooding tide, 

And the offing white with foam, 
And an old friend by my side 
Glad the long, green waves to ride. 

Strange how we've been wandering 
Through the crowded towns for gain, 

You and I who loved the sting 
Of the salt spray and the rain 
And the gale across the main ! 

What world honors could avail 
Loss of this — the slanted mast, 

And the roaring round the rail. 
And the sheeted spray we cast 
Round us as we seaward passed ? 

As the sad land sinks apace, 

With it sinks each thought of care ; 

Think not now of aging face ; 
Question not the whitening hair : 
Youth still beckons everywhere. 

260 



THE RETURN. 

And the light we thought had fled 
From the sky-line glows there now ; 

Bends the same blue overhead ; 
And the waves we used to plow 
Part in beryl at the bow. 

Hours like this we two have known 
In the old days, when we sailed 

Seaward ere the night had flown, 
Or the morning star had paled 
Like the shy eyes love has veiled. 

Round our bow the ripples purled. 
As the swift tide outward streamed 

Through a hushed and ghostly world. 
Where our harbor reaches seemed 
Like a river that we dreamed. 

Then we saw the black hills sway 
In the waters' crinkled glass. 

And the village wan and gray. 
And the startled cattle pass 
Through the tangled meadow-grass. 

Through the glooming we have run 
Straight into the gates of day, 

261 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS 



Seen the crimson-edg^d sun 

Burn the sea's gray bound away — 
Leap to universal sway. 

Little cared we where we drove 
So the wind was strong and keen. 

Oh, what sun-crowned waves we clove ! 
What cool shadows lurked between 
Those long combers pale and green ! 

Graybeard pleasures are but toys ; 

Sorrow shatters them at last : 
For this brief hour we are boys ; 

Trim the sheet and face the blast ; 

Sail into the happy past ! 

L. F. TOOKER 



362 



BEREAVED. 



T ET me come in where you sit weeping, — aye, 
Let me, who have not any child to die, 

Weep with you for the little one whose love 
I have known nothing of. 

The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed 
Their pressure round your neck ; the hands you used 
To kiss. — Such arms — such hands I never knew. 
May I not weep with you ? 

Fain would I be of service — say some thing, 
Between the tears, that would be comforting, — 
But ah ! so sadder than yourselves am I, 
Who have no child to die. 

J. W. Riley. 



263 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



t^e C^atiot 

"DE CAUSE I could not stop for Death, 

He kindly stopped for me ; 
The carriage held but just ourselves 
And Immortality. 

We slowly drove, he knew no haste, 

And I had put away 
My labor, and my leisure too, 

For his civility. 

We passed the school where children played, 

Their lessons scarcely done ; 
We passed the fields of gazing grain, 

We passed the setting sun. 

We paused before a house that seemed 

A swelling of the ground ; 
The roof was scarcely visible, 

The cornice but a mound. 

Since then 'tis centuries ; but each 

Feels shorter than the day 
I first surmised the horses' heads 

Were toward eternity. 

E. Dickinson. 

264 



I 



// 



INDIAN SUMMER. 



3nbian Rummer. 

"*HESE are the days when birds come back, 
"^ A very few, a bird or two. 
To take a backward look. 

These are the days when skies put on 
The old, old sophistries of June, — 
A blue and gold mistake. 

Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee. 
Almost thy plausibility 
Induces my belief. 

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear, 
And softly through the altered air 
Hurries a timid leaf ! 

Oh, sacrament of summer days. 
Oh, last communion in the haze, 
Permit a child to join. 

Thy sacred emblems to partake, 
Thy consecrated bread to break, 
Taste thine immortal wine ! 

E. Dickinson. 

265 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Confibeb. 

A NOTHER lamb, O Lamb of God, behold. 

Within this quiet fold, 
Among Thy Father's sheep 
I lay to sleep ! 

A heart that never for a night did rest 
Beyond its mother's breast. 
Lord, keep it close to Thee, 
Lest waking it should bleat and pine for me ! 

J. B. Tabb, 



?6$ 




JOHN BANISTER TABB 



IN ABSENCE. 



3n ^fisence. 

A LL that thou art not, makes not up the sum 

Of what thou art, beloved, unto me : 
All other voices, wanting thine, are dumb ; 
All vision, in thine absence, vacancy. 

J. B. Tabb. 



267 



/ 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



^ong of f^e C^affa^ooc^ee.' 

/^UT of the hills of Habersham, 
Down the valleys of Hall, 
I hurry amain to reach the plain, 
Run the rapids and leap the fall. 
Split at the rock and together again. 
Accept my bed, or narrow or wide. 
And flee from folly on every side 
With a lover's pain to attain the plain 

Far from the hills of Habersham, 

Far from the valleys of Hall. 

All down the hills of Habersham, 

All through the valleys of Hall, 
The rushes cried Abide, abide, 
The wilful waterweeds held me thrall, 
The laving laurel turned my tide. 
The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay^ 
The dewberry dipped for to work delay. 
And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide 

Here in the hills of Habersham, 

Here in the valleys of Hall. 

* From " Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyright, 1884, 1891, by Mary 
D. Lanier, published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 

268 



SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE, 



High o'er the hills of Habersham, 

Veiling the valleys of Hall, 
The hickory told me manifold 
Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall 
Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, 
The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, 
Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign. 
Said, Pass 7tot, so cold, these manifold 

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, 

These glades in the valleys of Hall. 

And oft in the hills of Habersham, 

And oft in the valleys of Hall, 
The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook 

stone 
Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, 
And many a luminous jewel lone 
— Crystals clear or acloud with mist, 
Ruby, garnet and amethyst — 
Made lures with the Hghts of streaming stone 

In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, 

In the beds of the valleys of Hall. 

But oh, not the hills of Habersham, 
And oh, not the valleys of Hall 
Avail : I am fain for to water the plain. 

269 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Downward the voices of Duty call — 
Downward to toil and be mixed with the main. 
The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn, 
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, 
And the lordly main from beyond the plain 
Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, 
Calls through the valleys of Hall. 

S. Lanier. 



270 



^ 



SONG. 



IN LEINSTER. 

r TRY to knead and spin, but my life is low the 

while. 
Oh, I long to be alone, and walk abroad a mile ; 
Yet if I walk alone, and think of naught at all. 
Why from me that's young should the wild tears fall ? 

The shower-stncken earth, the earth-colored streams. 
They breathe on me awake, and moan to me in 

dreams ; 
Arid >iOi>der Wy fondling the broke castle-wall, 
It p'^ upon iny heart till the wild tears fall. 

Tlic- "abindoor looks down a furze-lighted hill, 

\iM^ far ?« Leighlin Cross the fields are green and 

3tin •, 
-^vt once I hear the blackbird in Leighlin hedges 

call, 
^^e foolishness is on me, and the wild tears fall. 

L. I. GUINEY. 



271 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



/ 

"^ 17" HEN I am standing on a mountain crest, 

Or hold the tiller in the dashing spray, 
My love of you leaps foaming in my breast, 
Shouts with the winds and sweeps to their foray. 
My heart bounds with the horses of the sea. 
And plunges in the wild ride of the night, 
Flaunts in the teeth of tempest the large glee 
That rides out Fate and welcomes gods to fight. 
Ho, love, I laugh aloud for love of you. 
Glad that our love is fellow to rough weather, — 
No fretful orchid hothoused from the dew. 
But hale and hardy as the highland heather. 
Rejoicing in the wind that stings and thrills, 
Comrade of ocean, playmate of the hills. 

R. HOVEY. 



272 




RICHARD HOVEY 



AT GIBRALTAR. 



(^f (Bifitattat. 



"PNGLAND, I stand on thy imperial ground, 
Not all a stranger ; as thy bugles blow, 

I feel within my blood old battles flow, — 
The blood whose ancient founts in thee are found. 
Still surging dark against the Christian bound 

Wide Islam presses ; well its peoples know 

Thy heights that watch them wandering below ; 
I think how Lucknow heard their gathering sound. 
I turn and meet the cruel turbaned face ; 

England, 'tis sweet to be so much thy son ! 
I feel the conqueror in my blood and race ; 

Last night Trafalgar awed me, and to-day 
Gibraltar wakened ; hark, thy evening gun 

Startles the desert over Africa ! 



IL 

Thou art the rock of empire, set mid-seas 

Between the East and West, that God has built ; 
Advance thy Roman borders where thou wilt, 

While run thy armies true with His decrees. 

273 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Law, justice, liberty, — great gifts are these ; 

Watch that they spread where English blood is 
spilt, 

Lest, mixt and sullied with his country's guilt, 
The soldier's life-stream flow and Heaven displease. 
Two swords there are : one naked, apt to smite, 

Thy blade of war ; and, battled-storied, one 
Rejoices in the sheath and hides from light. 

American I am ; would wars were done ! 
Now westward look, my country bids Good-night, — 

Peace to the world from ports without a gun ! 

G. E, WOODBERRY. 



274 




JERRY AN' ME. 



Jfetrtt? an' (Wte* 



"^ O matter how the chances are, 

Nor when the winds may blow, 
My Jerry there has left the sea 

With all its luck an' woe : 
For who would try the sea at all. 

Must try it luck or no. 

They told him — Lor', men take no care 
How words they speak may fall — 

They told him blunt, he was too old, 
Too slow with oar an' trawl. 

An' this is how he left the sea 
An' luck an' woe an' all. 

Take any man on sea or land 

Out of his beaten way. 
If he is young 'twill do, but then, 

If he is old an' gray, 
A month will be a year to him. 

Be all to him you may. 

He sits by me, but most he walks 
The door-yard for a deck, 

275 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



An' scans the boat a-goin' out 

Till she becomes a speck, 
Then turns away, his face as wet 

As if she were a wreck. 

I cannot bring him back again, 

The days when we were wed. 
But he shall never know — my man — 

The lack o' love or bread, 
While I can cast i stitch or fill 

A needleful o' thread. 

God pity me, I'd most forgot • 

How many yet there be, 
Whose goodmen full as old as mine 

Are somewhere on the sea, 
Who hear the breakin' bar an' think 

O' Jerry home an' — me. 

H. Rich 



276 



FROST. 



TTOW small a tooth hath mined the season's 

^^ heart ! 

How cold a touch hath set the wood on fire, 

Until it blazes like a costly pyre 

Built for some Ganges emperor, old and swart, 

Soul-sped on clouds of incense ! Whose the art 

That webs the streams, each morn, with silver wire, 

Delicate as the tension of a lyre, — 

Whose falchion pries the chestnut-burr apart ? 

It is the Frost, a rude and Gothic sprite, 

Who doth unbuild the Summer's palaced wealth, 

And puts her dear loves all to sword or flight; 

Yet in the hushed, unmindful winter's night 

The spoiler builds again with jealous stealth, 

And sets a mimic garden, cold and bright. 

E. M. Thomas, 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Weire Qui (^i^ ^pitit feoose^ upon 

WJ ERE but my spirit loosed upon the air, — 

By some High Power who could Life's 
chains unbind, 

Set free to seek what most it longs to find, — 
To no proud Court of Kings would I repair : 
I would but climb, once more, a narrow stair, 

When day was wearing late, and dusk was kind ; 

And one should greet me to my failings blind, 
Content so I but shared his twilight there. 
Nay ! well I know he waits not as of old, — 

I could not find him in the old-time place, — 
I must pursue him, made by sorrow bold, 

Through worlds unknown, in strange Celestial 
race. 
Whose mystic round no traveller has told. 

From star to star, until I see his face. 

L. Cc MOULTON. 



278 



EBB AND FLOW. 



(E66 anb SfoXo. 

T WALKED beside the evening sea, 

And dreamed a dream that could not be *, 
The waves that plunged along the shore 
Said only : " Dreamer, dream no more ! " 

But still the legions charged the beach ; 
Loud rang their battle-cry, like speech; 
But changed was the imperial strain : 
It murmured : " Dreamer, dream again ! " 

I homeward turned from out the gloom, — 
That sound I heard not in my room ; 
But suddenly a sound, that stirred 
Within my very breast, I heard. 

It was my heart, that like a sea 
Within my breast beat ceaselessly : 
But like the waves along the shore. 
It said : " Dream on ! " and " Dream no more ! " 
G. W. Curtis. 



279 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

$5e (^^Btnu of feittfe Wesfet. 

HOOSIER DIALECT. 

OENCE little Wesley went, the place seems all so 

strange and still — 
W'y, I miss his yell o' " Gran'pap ! " as I'd miss the 

whipperwill ! 
And to think I ust to scale/ him fer his everlastin' 

noise, 
When I on'y rickoUect him as the best o' little boys ! 
I wisht a hunderd times a day 'at he'd come trompin' 

in, 
And all the noise he ever made was twic't as loud 

ag'in ! — 
It 'u'd seem like some soft music played on some 

fine insturment, 
'Longside o' this loud lonesomeness, sence little 

Wesley went ! 

Of course the clock don't tick no louder than it ust 

to do — 
Yit now they's times it 'pears like it 'u'd bu'st itse'f 

in two ! 
And let a rooster, suddent-like, crow som'er's clos't 

around, 
And seems's ef, mighty nigh it, it 'u'd lift me off the 

ground ! 

280 




JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



THE ABSENCE OF LITTLE WESLEY. 

And same with all the cattle when they bawl around 
the bars, 

In the red o' airly mornin', er the dusk and dew and 
stars, 

When the neighbers' boys 'at passes never stop, but 
jes' go on, 

A-whistlin' kind o' to theirse'v's — sence little Wes- 
ley's gone ! 

And then, o' nights, when Mother's settin' up oncom- 

mon late, 
A-bilin' pears er somepin', and I set and smoke and 

wait, 
Tel the moon out through the winder don't look big- 

ger'n a dime, 
And things keeps gittin' stiller — stiller — stiller all 

the time, — 
I've ketched myse'f a-wishin' like — as I dumb on 

the cheer 
To wind the clock, as I hev done fer mor'n fifty 

year, — 
A-wishin' 'at the time hed come fer us to go to bed, 
With our last prayers, and our last tears, sence littie 

Wesley's dead ! 

J. W. Riley. 



281 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



feittfe Wifb (gafi^ 

'T^HROUGH the fierce fever I nursed him, and 

then he said 
I was the woman — I ! — that he would wed ; 
He sent a boat with men for his own white priest, 
And he gave my father horses, and made a feast. 
I am his wife : if he has forgotten me, 
I will not live for scorning eyes to see. 
{Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art 



Lie still I lie still I Thy mother will do the rowing^) 

Three moons ago — it was but three moons ago — 

He took his gun, and started across the snow ; 

For the river was frozen, the river that still goes 

down 
Every day, as I watch it, to find the town ; 
The town whose name I caught from his sleeping 

lips, 
A place of many people and many ships. 
{Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art 

going. 
Lie still f lie still ! Thy mother will do the rowing:) 

282 



LITTLE WILD BABY. 



I to that town am going, to search the place, 

With his little white son in my arms, till I see his 

face. 
Only once shall I need to look in his eyes, 
To see if his soul, as I knew it, lives or dies. 
If it lives, we live, and if it is dead, we die, 
And the soul of my baby will never ask me why, 
{Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art 

going. 
Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing. 

I have asked about the river: one answered me, 

That after the town it goes to find the sea ; 

That great waves, able to break the stoutest bark, 

Are there, and the sea is very deep and dark. 

If he is happy without me, so best, so best; 

I will take his baby and go away to my rest. 

{Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art 

going, 
Lie still ! lie still ! Thy mother will do the rowing. 
The river flows swiftly, the sea is dark and deep : 
Little wild baby, lie still ! Lie still and sleep.) 

M. T. Janvier. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



liy YNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night 

Sailed off in a wooden shoe, — 
Sailed on a river of misty light 

Into a sea of dew. 
" Where are you going, and what do you wish ? " 

The old moon asked the three. 
" We have come to fish for the herring-fish 
That live in this beautiful sea ; 
Nets of silver and gold have we," 
Said Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

The old moon laughed and sung a song, 
As they rocked in the wooden shoe; 

And the wind that sped them all night long 
Ruffled the waves of dew ; 

The little stars were the herring-fish 
That lived in the beautiful sea. 

" Now cast your nets wherever you wish, 

^ From " A Little Book of Western Verse," copyright, 1889, by 
Eugene Field, published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 

284 




EUGENE FIELD 



DUTCH LULLABY. 



But never afeard are we ! " 

So cried the stars to the fishermen three, 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 



AU night long their nets they threw 

For the fish in the twinlding foam, 
Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, 

Bringing the fishermen home ; 
'Twc«s all so pretty a sail, it seemed 

As if it could not be ; 
And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed 
Of sailing that beautiful sea ; 
But I shall name you the fishermen three : 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 



Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a litde head, 
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 

Is a wee one's trundle-bed ; 
So shut your eyes while Mother sings 

Of wonderful sights that be, 

285 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



And you shall see the beautiful things 

As you rock on the misty sea 

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,- 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 

E. Field. 



286 



THE MARYLAND YELLOW -THROAT 



Al rHILE May bedecks the naked trees 

With tassels and embroideries, 
And many blue-eyed violets beam 
Along the edges of the stream, 
I hear a voice that seems to say. 
Now near at hand, now far away, 

" Witchery — witchery — witchery.'''' 

An incantation so serene, 
So innocent, befits the scene : 
There's magic in that small bird's note — 
See, there he flits — the yellow-throat : 
A living sunbeam, tipped with wings, 
A spark of light that shines and sings 
" Witchery — witchery — witchery ^ 

You prophet with a pleasant name, 
If out of Mary-land you came. 
You know the way that thither goes 
Where Mary's lovely garden grows : 
Fly swiftly back to her, I pray. 
And try, to call her down this way, 

" Witchery — witchery — witchery / " 

^ From " The Builders and Other Poems," copjTight, 1897, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 

287 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Tell her to leave her cockle-shells, 

And all her little silver bells 

That blossom into melody, 

And all her maids less fair than she. 

She does not need these pretty things, 

For everywhere she comes, she brings 

" Witchery — witchery — witchery / '' 

The woods are greening overhead, 
And flowers adorn each mossy bed ; 
The waters babble as they run — 
One thing is lacking, only one : 
If Mary were but here to-day, 
I would believe your charming lay, 

" Witchery — witchery — witchery I " 

Along the shady road I look — 
Who's coming now across the brook ? 
A woodland maid, all robed in white — 
The leaves dance round her with delight. 
The sti-eam laughs out beneath her feet — 
Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete, 
" Witchery — witchery — witchery / " 

H. Van Dyke. 



288 



THE SILENCE OF LOVE. 



t^c ^ifence of &oM. 

/^H, inexpressible as sweet, 

Love takes my voice away ; 
I cannot tell thee, when we meet, 
What most I long to say. 

But hadst thou hearing in thy heart 

To know what beats in mine, 
Then shouldst thou walk, where'er thou art. 

In melodies divine. 

So warbling birds lift higher notes 

Than to our ears belong ; 
The music fills their throbbing throats, 

But silence steals the song. 

G. E. WOODBERRY. 



289 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



"'TSJIGHTINGALES warble about it, 

All night under blossom and star ; 
The wild swan is dying without it, 

And the eagle cryeth afar ; 
The sun he doth mount but to find it, 

Searching the green earth o'er ; 
But more doth a man's heart mind it. 
Oh, more, more, more ! 

Over the gray leagues of ocean 

The infinite yearneth alone ; 
The forests with wandering emotion 

The thing they know not intone ; 
Creation arose but to see it, 

A million lamps in the blue ; 
But a lover he shall be it 

If one sweet maid is true. 

G. E. WOODBERRY. 



290 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 



// 

T~\ O 3^ou remember, father, — 
It seems so long ago, — 

The day we fished together 
Along the Pocono ? 

At dusk I waited for you, 
Beside the lumber-mill. 

And there I heard a hidden bird 
That chanted, " whip-poor-will," 
" Whippoorwill I w hippo or willl '*'' 
Sad and shrill, — " ivhippoorwill I " 

The place was all deserted ; 
The mill-wheel hung at rest; 

The lonely star of evening 
Was quivering in the west ; 

The veil of night was falling ; 
The winds were folded still ; 

And everywhere the trembling air 
Re-echoed " whip-poor-will ! " 
" ivhippoorwill / whippoorwill f'' 
Sad and shrill, — " ivhippoorwill ! " 

* From " The Builders, and Other Poems," copyright, 1897, ^y 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 

291 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

You seemed so long in coming, 

I felt so much alone ; 
The wide, dark world was round me, 

And life was all unknown ; 
The hand of sorrow touched me. 

And made my senses thrill 
With all the pain that haunts the strain 

Of mournful whip-poor-will. 

" Whippoorwill I whippoorwill / "" 

Sad and shrill, — " whippoorwill / " 

What did I know of trouble ? 
An idle little lad ; 

I had not learned the lessons 
That make men wise and sad. 

I dreamed of grief and parting, 
And something seemed to fill 

My heart with tears, while in my ears 
Resounded " whip-poor-will." 
" Whippoorwill J whippoorwill!'''' 
Sad and shrill, — " whippoorwill/'''' 

'Twas but a shadowy sadness, 

That lightly passed away ; 
But I have known the substance 

Of sorrow, since that day. 

292 




HENRY VAN DYKE 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 



For nevermore at twilight, 

Beside the silent mill, 
I'll wait for you, in the falling dew, 

And hear the whip-poor-will. 

" Whippoorwill / w hippo or will ! '''* 

Sad and shrill, — " whippoorwilll '* 

But if you still remember. 

In that fair land of light, 
The pains and fears that touch us 

Along this edge of night, 
I think all earthly grieving, 

And all our mortal ill, 
To you must seem like a boy's sad dream, 

Who hears the whip-poor-will. 

" Whippoorwill ! whippoorwill J ''"' 

A passing thrill — " whippoorwill I 

H. Van Dyke. 



293 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



O PIRIT that moves the sap in spring, 

When lusty male birds fight and sing. 
Inform my words, and make my lines 
As sweet as flowers, as strong as vines. 

Let mine be the freshening power 
Of rain on grass, of dew on flower ; 
The fertilizing song be mine, 
Nut-flavored, racy, keen as wine. 

Let some procreant truth exhale 
From me, before my forces fail ; 
Or ere the ecstatic impulse go. 
Let all my buds to blossoms blow. 

If quick, sound seed be wanting where 
The virgin soil feels sun and air. 
And longs to fill a higher state. 
There let my meanings germinate. 

Let not my strength be spilled for naught, 

But, in some fresher vessel caught. 

Be blended into sweeter forms. 

And fraught with purer aims and charms. 

294 



FERTILITY. 

Let bloom-dust of my life be blown 
To quicken hearts that flower alone ; 
Around my knees let scions rise 
With heavenward-pointed destinies. 

And when I fall, like some old tree, 
And subtile change makes mould of me, 
There let earth show a fertile line 
Whence perfect wild-flowers leap and shine ! 
M. Thompson. 



29S 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



€9e O^eetc/ 

'T^HE moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood 

were pouring, 
When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love 

deploring. 
So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and 

eerie ; 
I longed to hear a simpler strain, — the wood notes 

of the veery. 

The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish 

heather ; 
It sprinkles down from far away like light and love 

together ; 
He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding 

mate, his dearie ; 
I only know one song more sweet, — the vespers of 

the veery. 

In English gardens, green and bright and full of 

fruity treasure, 
I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry 

measure : 

^ From "The Builders, and Other Poems," copyright, 1897, by 
Charle:-; Scribner's Sons. 

296 



THE VEERY. 

The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud 

and cheery, 
And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the 

veery. 

But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is sing- 
ing; 

New England woods, at close of day, with that clear 
chant are ringing : 

And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh 
are weary, 

1 fain would hear, before I go, the wood notes of the 
veery. 

H. Van Dyke. 



297 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



T N a still room at hush of dawn, 

My Love and I lay side by side 
And heard the roaming forest wind 
Stir in the paling autumn-tide. 

I watched her earth-brown eyes grow glad 
Because the round day was so fair ; 

While memories of reluctant night 
Lurked in the blue dusk of her hair. 

Outside, a yellow maple-tree, 
Shifting upon the silvery blue 

With small innumerable sound, 

Rustled to let the sunlight through. 

The livelong day the elvish leaves 

Danced with their shadows on the floor ; 

And the lost children of the wind 

Went straying homeward by our door. 

And all the swarthy afternoon 

We watched the great deliberate sun 

Walk through the crimsoned hazy world, 
Counting his hilltops one by one. 

298 





^■^^^1^^^^^ ^ i^H^^H 





BLISS CARMAN 



THE EAVESDROPPER. 

Then as the purple twilight came 

And touched the vines along our eaves, 

Another Shadow stood without 

And gloomed the dancing of the leaves. 

The silence fell on my Love's lips ; 

Her great brown eyes were veiled and sad 
With pondering some maze of dream, 

Though all the splendid year was glad. 

Restless and vague as a gray wind 

Her heart had grown, she knew not why„ 

But hurrying to the open door, 
Against the verge of western sky 

I saw retreating on the hills, 

Looming and sinister and black, 

The stealthy figure swift and huge 

Of One who strode and looked not back. 

B. Carman. 



299 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



C OLE Lord of Lords and very King of Kings, 
He sits within the desert, carved in stone ; 

Inscrutable, colossal, and alone, 
And ancienter than memory of things. 
Graved on his front the sacred beetle clings ; 

Disdain sits on his lips ; and in a frown 

Scorn lives upon his forehead for a crown. 
The affrighted ostrich dare not dust her wings 
Anear this Presence. The long caravan's 

Dazed camels stop, and mute the Bedouins stare. 

This symbol of past power more than man's 
Presages doom. Kings look — and Kings despair: 
Their sceptres tremble in their jewelled hands 

And dark thrones totter in the baleful air ! 

L. Mifflin. 



300 



DRIVING HOME THE COWS- 




©rising gome f^e €oJ»5. 

/^UT of the clover and blue-eyed grass 
He turned them into the river-lane ; 
One after another he let them pass, 
Then fastened the meadow-bars again. 

Under the willows, and over the hill, 
He patiently followed their sober pace ; 

The merry whistle for once was still, 

And something shadowed the sunny face. 

Only a boy ! and his father had said 
He never could let his youngest go : 

Two already were lying dead 

Under the feet of the trampling foe. 

But after the evening work was done. 

And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp 

Over his shoulder he slung his gun 

And stealthily followed the foot-path damp. 

Across the clover, and through the wheat, 
With resolute heart and purpose grim, 

Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet 
And the blind bat's flitting startled him. 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Thrice since then had the lanes been white, 
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom ; 

And now, when the cows came back at night 
The feeble father drove them home. 

For news had come to the lonely farm 

That three were lying where two had lain ; 

And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm 
Could never lean on a son's again. 

The summer day grew cool and late. 

He went for the cows when the work was doiie ^ 
But down the lane, as he opened the gate, 

He saw them coming one by one : 

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, 

Shaking their horns in the evening wind ; 

Cropping the buttercups out of the grass — 
But who was it following close behind ? 

Loosely swung in the idle air 

The empty sleeve of army blue ; 
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair, 

Looked out a face that the father knew. 

For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn, 
And yield their dead unto life again ; 

302 



DRIVING HOME THE COWS. 



And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn 
In golden glory at last may wane. 

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes ; 

For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb 
And under the silent evening skies 

Together they followed the cattle home. 

K. P. Osgood. 



303 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



$9e gig9 ti^c (d (Bettissfiurg. 

A CLOUD possessed the hollow field, 

The gathering battle's smoky shield. 
Athwart the gloom the lightning flashed, 
And through the cloud some horsemen dashed. 
And from the heights the thunder pealed. 

Then at the brief command of Lee 
Moved out that matchless infantry, 
With Pickett leading grandly down, 
To rush against the roaring crown 
Of those dread heights of destiny. 

Far heard above the angry guns 

A cry across the tumult runs, — 

The voice that rang through Shiloh's woods 

And Chickamauga's solitudes, 

The fierce South cheering on her sons ! 

Ah, how the withering tempest blew 
Against the front of Pettigrew ! 
A Khamsin wind that scorched and singed 
Like that infernal flame that fringed 
The British squares at Waterloo ! 

304 



THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG. 



A thousand fell where Kemper led ; 
A thousand died where Garnett bled ; 
In blinding flame and strangling smoke 
The remnant through the batteries broke 
And crossed the works with Armistead. 

" Once more in Glory's van with me ! " 

Virginia cried to Tennessee ; 
'-' We two together, come what may, 

Shall stand upon these works to-day ! " 

(The reddest day in history.) 

Brave Tennessee ! In reckless way 
Virginia heard her comrade say : 
" Close round this rent and riddled rag ! " 
What time she set her battle-flag 
Amid the guns of Doubleday. 

But who shall break the guards that wait 
Before the awful face of Fate ? 
The tattered standards of the South 
Were shriveled at the cannon's mouth, 
And all her hopes were desolate. 

In vain the Tennesseean set 
His breast against the bayonet I 

305 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



In vain Virginia charged and raged, 
A tigress in her wrath uncaged, 
Till all the hill was red and wet ! 

Above the bayonets, mixed and crossed, 
Men saw a gray, gigantic ghost 
Receding through the battle-cloud. 
And heard across the tempest loud. 
The death-cry of a nation lost ! 

The brave went down ! Without disgrace 
They leaped to Ruin's red embrace, 
They only heard Fame's thunders wake. 
And saw the dazzling sun-burst break 
In smiles on Glory's bloody face ! 

They fell who lifted up a hand 
And bade the sun in heaven to stand ! 
They smote and fell, who set the bars 
Against the progress of the stars, 
And stayed the march of Motherland ! 

They stood, who saw the future come 
On through the fight's delirium ! 
They smote and stood, who held the hope 
Of nations on that slippery slope 
Amid the cheers of Christendom. 

306 



THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG. 



God lives ! He forged the iron will 
That clutched and held that trembling hill. 
God lives and reigns ! He built and lent 
The heights for Freedom's battlement 
Where floats her flag in triumph still ! 

Fold up the banners ! Smelt the guns ! 
Love rules. Her gentler purpose runs. 
A mighty mother turns in tears 
The pages of her battle years, 
Lamenting all her fallen sons ! 

W. H. Thompson. 



307 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



$9e (gomt2* 

'T^HE hours I spent with thee, dear heart 

Are as a string of pearls to me ; 
I count them over, every one apart, 
My rosary. 

Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, 

To still a heart in absence wrung ; 
I tell each bead unto the end and there 
A cross is hung. 

Oh, memories that bless — and burn ! 
Oh, barren gain — and bitter loss ! 
I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn 
To kiss the cross, 
Sweetheart, 

To kiss the cross. 

R. C. Rogers. 



Jo8 




FRANCIS BRET HARTE 



GRIZZLY. 



/^OWARD, — of heroic size, 
In whose lazy muscles lies 
Strength we fear and yet despise ; 
Savage, — whose relentless tusks 
Are content with acorn husks ; 
Robber, — whose exploits ne'er soared 
O'er the bee's or squirrel's hoard ; 
Whiskered chin, and feeble nose, 
Claws of steel on baby toes, — 
Here in solitude and shade, 
Shambling, shuiHing plantigrade, 
Be thy courses undismayed ! 

Here, where Nature makes thy bed, 
Let thy rude, half-human tread 

Point to hidden Indian springs. 
Lost in ferns and fragrant grasses. 

Hovered o'er by timid wings, 
Where the wood-duck lightly passes, 
Where the wild bee holds her sweets, 
Epicurean retreats, 
P*it for thee, and better than 
Fearful spoils of dangerous man. 

309 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



In thy fat-jowled deviltry 
Friar Tuck shall live in thee ; 
Thou mayest levy tithe and dole ; 

Thou shalt spread the woodland cheer, 
From the pilgrim taking toll ; 

Match thy cunning with his fear; 
Eat, and drink, and have thy fill ; 
Yet remain an outlaw still ! 

F. B. Harte. 



310 



UNMANIFEST DESTINY. 



'T'^O what new fates, my country, far 
And unforeseen of foe or friend, 
Beneath what unexpected star, 
Compelled to what unchosen end, 

Across the sea that knows no beach 
The Admiral of Nations guides 

Thy bhnd obedient keels to reach 
The harbor where thy future rides ! 

The guns that spoke at Lexington 

Knew not that God was planning then 

The trumpet word of Jefferson 
To bugle forth the rights of men. 

To them that wept and cursed Bull Run 
What was it but despair and shame ? 

Who saw beneath the cloud the sun ? 
Who knew that God was in the flame ? 

Had not defeat upon defeat, 

Disaster on disaster come. 
The slave's emancipated feet 

Had never marched behind the drum. 

3" 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

There is a Hand that bends our deeds 
To mightier issues than we planned, 

Each son that triumphs, each that bleeds, 
My country, serves Its dark command. 

I do not know beneath what sky 

Nor on what seas shall be thy fate ; 
I only know it shall be high, 
I only know it shall be great 

R, HovEY. 
July^ i8g8. 



312 



NOTES. 



American poetry before Bryant was considerable in 
amount, but, with few exceptions, it must be looked for by 
the curious student in the graveyard of old anthologies. 
Who now reads "The Simple Cobbler of Agawam in 
America," " The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung up in Amer- 
ica," " The Day of Doom," " M'Fingal," or " The Colum- 
biad ? " Skipping a generation from Barlow's death, who 
reads with much seriousness any one of the group of poets 
of which Bryant in his earliest period was the centre : 
Halleck, Pierpont, Sprague, Drake, Dana, Percival, All- 
ston, Brainard, Mrs. Osgood, and Miss Brooks ? A few of 
them, to be sure, are remembered by an occasional lyric, 
— Halleck by " Marco Bozzaris," a spirited ode in the 
manner of Campbell ; Pierpont by his ringing lines, "War- 
ren's Address to the American Soldiers ; " Drake by " The 
American Flag," conventional but not commonplace, and 
marked by one very imaginative line ; and Allston by two 
rather excellent lyrics, " Rosalie " and *' America to Great 
Britain." The first poet to accomplish work of high sus- 
tained excellence was Bryant. His poetry, though never 
impassioned, is uniformly elegant. It is often as chaste 
as Lander at his best. But it never surprises ; it is not 

313 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

emotional, personal, suggestively imaginative. In fact, 
Bryant's muse is not lyrical. With the exception of Pink- 
ney and Hoffman, whose " Sparkling and Bright," if 
technically defective, is a true song, we must wait for our 
lyric poet till we reach Edgar Allan Poe, the greatest — - 
one inclines to say the only — master of musical quality in 
verse whom America has produced. 

The Wild Honeysuckle. — Philip Freneau, born in 1752, 
was a soldier in the American Revolution. Though never 
rising quite into the highest class of poets, he is our first 
genuine singer. *' The Indian Burying-ground " and " To 
a Honey-bee " are only less successful than the graceful 
lines quoted. 

A Health. — Poe was an enthusiastic admirer of this 
poem. He pronounced it, in his essay entitled "The 
Poetic Principle," "full of brilliancy and spirit," and 
added : " It was the misfortune of Mr. Pinkney to have 
been bom too far south. Had he been a New Englander, 
it is probable that he would have been ranked as the first 
of American lyrists by that magnanimous cabal which has 
so long controlled the destinies of American Letters, in 
conducting the thing called The North American Revieiv.^'' 
This passage, very characteristic of Poe's criticisms, illus- 
trates both his championship of favorites, and unmerciful 
scourging of foes. 

A Poefs Hope. — The two concluding stanzas from a 
poem of considerable length. 

To Helen. — This brief lyric, written in the poet's youth, 
is not only among the most exquisite from his pe» 



NOTES. 

but it furnishes one of the most famous among current 
quotations : 

*' The glory that was Greece, 
And the grandeur that was Rome." 

On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake. — These manly 
lines have yielded another phrase to the world's memory. 
Hardly any quotation is more hackneyed than the last 
two verses of the first stanza. Drake was a young poet, 
the intimate friend and literary co-laborer of Halleck, 
who died September, 1820, in his twenty-fifth year. 

To the Fringed Gentian. — This lyric well illustrates 
what Mr. Stedman has aptly termed Bryant's " Doric 
simplicity." Nothing of Wordsworth's is freer from 
ornament or from the least trace of affectation. 

The Raven. — Though not belonging to the highest 
order of poetry, " The Raven " still maintains its position 
at the head of its class. No more astonishing tour de 
force can be found in English literature. 

Nature. — Generally regarded, I think, the finest of 
Longfellow^'s, if not of American, sonnets. 

Ichabod. — Occasioned by the defection and fall of 
Daniel Webster. It is worthy a place by the side of 
Browning's " Lost Leader." In later years, Whittier 
wrote a poem on the theme, which, while not a retraction 
of his former position, is penned in a tenderer, more 
tolerant mood. " The Lost Occasion " is its title, and it 
is only just to the poet to read this second lyric, hardly 
less successful, in connection with the first. 



// 



// 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

Old Ironsides. — " Old Ironsides " was the popular 
name for the frigate Constitution. Doctor Holmes's poem 
appeared in the Boston Advertiser " at the time when it 
was proposed to break up the old ship as unfit for service." 

Bedouin Song. — One of the most spirited, most genu- 
inely lyrical of American poems. 

Skipper Ireson's Ride. — These lines have an easy, 
svdnging quality that is quite inimitable. One inclines to 
agree with Mr. Stedman : " Of all our poets he (Whittier) 
is the most natural balladist." 

The Village Blacks7nith. — The directness and homely 
strength of " The Village Blacksmith " have made it de- 
servedly popular. The editor has ventured to omit the 
final stanza beginning: "Thanks, thanks to thee, my 
worthy friend," which obviously adds neither to the unity 
nor to the force of the poem. 

Inspiration. — The first three stanzas out of the seven 
which are usually quoted under this title. In the complete 
poem there are nineteen stanzas beside an introductory 
and a concluding stanza in a different metre. See Tho- 
reau's " Poems of Nature," edited by H. S. Salt and F. B. 
Sanborn, Boston and London, 1895. 

The Last Leaf. — This masterpiece of mingled humot 
and pathos was a favorite poem of Abraham Lincoln. 

The Carol of Death. — Although few of Whitman's 
poems can be strictly called lyrics, no general collection of 
American verse should be without representative extracts 
from " Leaves of Grass," which at least is informed 
throughout with a very noble lyrical spirit. 

316 



NOTES. 

Carolina. — The concluding lines of this lyric have an 
imaginative vigor rare in American poetry. Four stanzas 
are omitted. 

Dirge for a Soldier. — Boker's Dirge was written in 
memory of General Philip Kearney. 

Battle-hymn of the Republic. — Written in December, 
1861, while Mrs. Howe was on a visit to Washington. 
Soon after the writer's return to Boston the lines were 
accepted for publication in the Atlatitic Monthly by James 
T. Fields, who suggested the title of the poem. The 
song did not at first receive much notice, but before 
the Civil War was over had become very popular. 

My Maryland. A poem of great strength and beauty, 
though of uneven merit. It is unfortunately marred by 
a few rather intemperate expressions. The sincerity of 
feeling is everywhere so evident, however, that these 
must be forgiven. The lines were written by a native of 
Baltimore, Prof. James Randall, and were first published 
in April, 1861. The author of the famous song was 
teaching in a Louisiana college when he read in a New 
Orleans paper the news of the attack on the Massachu- 
setts troops as they passed through Baltimore. This 
newspaper account inspired the verses. 

In the Hospital. — This poem, which has enjoyed at 
best a newspaper immortality, deserves to be more widely 
known. Its simplicity, directness, and truth of feeling 
are quite beyond praise. According to a story which 
one dislikes to believe apocryphal, these lines were found 
under the pillow of a wounded soldier near Port Royal, 
bourn Carolina, in 1864. 

317 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

^ Days. — Regarded from the point of view of artistic 

/ / form, perhaps nothing of Emerson's is quite so flawless as 
'^' / " Days," a poem which for conciseness and polish is 
worthy to be called classic. 

Serenade. — From The Spanish Student, 1843. 
A Death-bed. — This is a worthy companion-piece to 
that other miniature classic, Thomas Hood's song, begin- 
ning, " We watched her breathing through the night." 

Telling the Bees. — "A remarkable custom, brought 
from the Old Country, formerly prevailed in the rural 
districts of New England. On the death of a member of 
the family, the bees were at once informed of the event, 
and their hives dressed in mourning. The ceremonial 
was supposed to be necessary to prevent the swarms from 
leaving their hives and seeking a new home." This poem 
of Whittier's is almost his highest achievement. Lowell 
said, in writing of the Quaker poet (Appleton's Cyclopedia 
of American Biography, VI.) : " Many of his poems (such 
for example as ' Telling the Bees '), in which description 
and sentiment mutually inspire each other, are as fine 
as any in the language." One often thinks, however, that 
Whittier will live longest by his hymns and poems of 
religious devotion. There is nothing similar in English 
that surpasses "The Eternal Goodness," and perhaps 
half a dozen other poems. 

Katie. — About one-third of Timrod's graceful poem 
which bears this title. This is one of the few cases where 
the editor has ventured to make omissions. 

Thalatta. — Regarding this poem, Thomas Wentwortb 

318 



NOTES. 

Higginson says, in *' The New World and the New Book : " 
" Who knows but that, when all else of American litera- 
ture has vanished in forgetfulness, some single little 
masterpiece like this may remain to show the high-water 
mark, not merely of a single poet, but of a nation and a 
generation ? " The author of " Thalatta " was a Dart- 
mouth graduate, a teacher, and a disciple of Emerson. 

The Rhodora. — " The Rhodora " has a conciseness 
and unity too rare in Emerson's poetry, which, beau- 
tiful in details, is strangely uneven. We sigh as we think 
what an unrivalled lyric poet Emerson would have been 
had he been sustained at the heights he was capable of 
reaching. No one surpasses Emerson at his best ; he is 
almost a great poet. 

Nature. — Thoreau's prose is known universally; his 
verse has not won as yet the recognition it deserves. It 
has little lyrical quality, but for unconventionality, charm- 
ing turns of phrase, and the intimate knowledge of Nature 
it reveals, it is almost alone in American poetry. 

The Chambered Nautilus. — Many think this Holmes's 
finest poem. It is taken from " The Autocrat of the 
Breakfast Table," 1858. 

Thought. — Helen Jackson is, perhaps, the most gifted 
of American women poets. Emily Dickinson is more im- 
aginative, but her utter indifference to form in com- 
position makes her work, unique as it is, less satisfying. 
Mrs. Jackson was a favorite with Emerson, and he is 
said to have liked best among her poems this sonnet, 
« Thought." 

319 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

On a Bust of Dante. — Parsons, one of the noblest of 
American poets, is one of the most neglected. Stedman 
is inclined to think " On a Bust of Dante " the finest of 
American lyrics (see " The Nature of Poetry," 254.) 

The Port of Skips. — In a recent review of American 
Literature in the London Atkczneum occurs this sentence ; 
" In point of power, workmanship, and feeling, among all 
poems written by Americans, we are inclined to give first 
place to the ' Port of Ships,' of Joaquin Miller." The con- 
cluding stanza, which is didactic and inferior to the others, 
is omitted. This poem is generally known by the title, 
" Columbus." 

The White Jessamine. — Always artistic, Tabb's verse 
usually suggests workmanship ; it is more thoughtful than 
spontaneous. His religious poetry presents, in the main, 
a rather striking similarity to the work of George Herbert. 

Parting. — Miss Dickinson has much of the witchcraft 
and subtlety of William Blake. Many verses of the 
shy recluse, whom Mr. Higginson so happily has intro- 
duced to the world, are not only daring and uncon- 
ventional, but recklessly defiant of form. But, as her 
editor has well said, " When a thought takes one's breath 
away, a lesson on grammar seems an impertinence." 
Emily Dickinson had more than a message, more than 
the charm of unexpectedness, more than the gift of 
phrase, — she had (and of how many Americans can this 
be said > ) an intense imagination. 

Fertility. — This selection appears in the collected 
poems of Maurice Thompson (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 
1892), under the title, "A Prelude." 

320 



NOTES. 

Sesostris. — Of this poem Mr, Stoddard has the high 
praise that in imaginative quality it is unequalled in nine- 
teenth century literature, unless by Leigh Hunt's sonnet 
on the Nile. 

The High Tide at Gettysburg. — The author of this 
vigorous ballad is a brother of the late Maurice Thompson. 
He served in the Confederate army through the war, and 
subsequently entered the legal profession. His present 
home is in Seattle, Washington. 



321 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



A blight, a gloom, I know not what . 
A cloud possessed the hollow field . 
All that thou art not, makes not up the s 
All the long August afternoon . 
A man said unto his angel 
Another lamb, O Lamb of God, behold 
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er 
As a twig trembles, which a bird 
At midnight, in the month of June . 
At the king's gate the subtle noon . 
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down 
Because I could not stop for Death . 
Behind him lay the gray Azores 
Beneath the warriors helm, behold . 
Birds are singing round my window . 
Burly, dozing humble-bee . 
By the rude bridge that arched the flood 
Chaos, of old, was God's dominion . 
Close his eyes ; his work is done 
Come lovely and soothing death 
Coward, — of heroic size . 
Dark as the clouds of even 
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days 
De massa ob de sheepfol' 



242 
304 
267 

233 
211 
266 

63 
145 

57 
183 

76 
264 
199 
248 

193 
169 

74 
256 
106 

98 

309 
100 
126 
225 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

PAGE 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way . 175 
Dear yesterday, glide not so fast . . . -155 

Do you remember, father 291 

England, I stand on thy imperial ground . . .273 
Fair flower that dost so comely grow . . . i 
Farragut, Farragut . . . . . . .110 

For a cap and bells our lives we pay . . .162 

From the Desert I come to thee .... 85 

"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried . . .119 

Green be the turf above thee 36 

Helen, thy beauty is to me 31 

Her hands are cold ; her face is white . . .124 
Here is the place ; right over the hill . . . 137 
Her suffering ended with the day . . . .136 
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my child- 
hood 8 

How small a tooth hath mined the season's heart . 277 
I am an acme of things accomplish'd . . .173 
I am he that walks with the tender and growing 

night 172 

I fill this cup to one made up 12 

I have a little kinsman 150 

I knew she lay above me 235 

I lay me down to sleep 122 

I saw him once before 95 

I saw the twinkle of white feet .... 64 
I stand upon the summit of my years . . .154 
I try to knead and spin, but my life is low the while 271 
I waited in the little sunny room .... 247 
I walked beside the evening sea . . . '279 
If with light head erect I sing 94 

324 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 

PAGB 

In a still room at hush of dawn .... 298 

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell 21 

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes . . 165 

In the greenest of our valleys 26 

In the summer even ....... 202 

It may be through some foreign grace . . . 140 
It was many and many a year ago . . . .10 

It was nothing but a rose I gave her . . . 196 

It was the schooner Hesperus ..... 80 

Lear and Cordelia ! 'twas an ancient tale . . 78 

Let me come in where you sit weeping, — aye . . 263 
Let me move slowly through the street ... 42 
Lo 1 Death has reared himself a throne . . - ^5 
Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands . .215 
Look out upon the stars, my love . . . .14 

Men say the sullen instrument 158 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 

Lord 108 

My heart, I cannot still it 192 

My life closed twice before its close .... 252 
My life is like the summer rose .... 4 

My love for thee doth march like armed men . .217 
My mind lets go a thousand things .... 241 

Nightingales warble about it 290 

No matter how the chances are . . . .275 
Not a hand has lifted the latchet .... 236 
Not a kiss in life ; but one kiss, at life's end . . 209 

Not as all other women are 142 

Now at last I am at home 260 

" Now tell me, my merry woodman " . . . 149 
O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done . 188 

325 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

O Death, when thou shalt come to me 

O fairest of the rural maids 

O marvel, fruit of fruits, I pause 

O messenger, art thou the king, or I 

O Nature ! I do not aspire 

O Time ! O Death 1 I clasp you in my arms 

Of all the rides since the birth of time 

Oh, inexpressible as sweet 

Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor . 

Oh^ whafs the way to Arcady . 

Once it smiled a silent dell 

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 

weak and weary 
Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass 
Out of the hills of Habersham . 
Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin . 
See, from this counterfeit of him 
Sence little Wesley went, the place seems all so 

strange and still .... 
Serene, I fold my hands and wait 
Sky in its lucent splendor lifted 
So fallen I so lost ! the light withdrawn . 
Sole Lord of Lords and very King of Kings 
Southward with fleet of ice 
Sparkling and bright in liquid light 
Spirit that moves the sap in spring 
Stars of the summer night 
Still in thy love I trust 
Such special sweetness was about 
The dawn came in through the bars of the blind 

326 



PAGE 

6 
167 
180 
166 

24 

87 
289 

251 

243 
38 

54 

45 
301 
268 
194 

185 

280 

227 

238 

69 

300 

71 

32 

294 

^33 
218 
224 
213 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 

PAGE 

The day is done, and the darkness .... 66 
The despot treads thy sacred sands .... 104 
The despot's heel is on thy shore . . . • 113 
The grass that is under me now . . . .127 
The handful here, that once was Mary's earth . .147 
The hours I spent with thee, dear heart . . . 308 
The little toy dog is covered with dust . . .231 
The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood 

were pouring 296 

The new moon hung in the sky . . . .221 
The pines were dark on Ramoth hill . . . 130 

The rising moon has hid the stars .... 190 
The royal feast was done ; the King . . . 205 

The sky is dark, and dark the bay below . . .217 

The tide rises, the tide falls l6i 

The wind from out the west is blowing . . .216 
There are gains for all our losses . . . .129 
There is a city, builded by no hand .... 201 
There is something in the autumn that is native to 

my blood 230 

These are the days when birds come back . . 265 

This bronze doth keep the very form and mold . 207 
This is Palm Sunday ; mindful of the day . . 198 
This is the Burden of the Heart . . . .197 
This is the ship of pearl, which poets feign . . 178 
Thou blossom bright with autumn dew ... 40 
Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State .... 135 

Thou unrelenting Past 18 

Thou wast all that to me, love , . . . . 34 
Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm . . 117 
Thought is deeper than all speech .... 181 

327 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 



Through the fierce fever I nursed him, and then he 

said 

Three roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed down 

To what new fates, my country, far . 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

Upon a cloud among the stars we stood . 

Vast hollow voids, beyond the utmost reach 

We break the glass, whose sacred wine . 

Were but my spirit loosed upon the air . 

What, cringe to Europe I Band it all in one 

What may we take into the vast Forever? 

When first the bride and bridegroom wed 

When I am standing on a mountain crest 

When I was a beggarly boy 

When the Sultan Shah-Zaman . 

While May bedecks the naked trees 

Whither, midst falling dew 

Who has robbed the ocean cave 

Wind of the North . 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, one night 

Years have flown since I knew thee first 



282 
210 

311 

92 
229 
257 

25 

278 

75 
219 

153 

272 
128 

253 

287 

29 

3 

258 
284 
208 



328 



INDEX TO AUTHORS. 

PAGE 

James Aldrich, 1810 — 1856 136 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 1836 — .... 

210, 221, 241, 242, 248, 253 

George Henry Boker, 1823 — i8go . 75, 78, 100, 106 
Joseph Brownlee Brown, 1824 — 1888 . . -154 
William CuUen Byrant, 1794 — 1878 6, 18, 29, 40, 42, 54 
Henry Cuyler Banner, 1855 — 1896 209, 213, 233, 243 
John Burroughs, 1837 — 227 

Bliss Carman, 186 1 — 230, 298 

William Ellery Channing, 1818 — .... 24 
Christopher Pearse Cranch, 1 81 3 — 1892 . . 181 

George William Curtis, 1824 — 1892 . . . 279 

Emily Dickinson, 1830 — 1886 . . 252, 264, 265 

Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1803 — 1882 74, 126, 165, 169 

Eugene Field, 1850 — 1895 .... 231,284 

Annie Adams Fields, 1834 — 218 

Philip Freneau, 1752 — 1832 1 

329 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

PAGE 

Richard Watson Gilder, 1844 — 207, 208, 216, 217 

Sarah Pratt (McLean) Greene, 1858 — . . . 225 
Louise Imogen Guiney, 1861 — . . . 211, 271 



Fitz-Greene Halleck, 1790 — 1867 . 
Francis Bret Harte, 1839 — 1902 
Charles Fenno Hoffman, 1806 — 1884 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, 1809 — 1894 
Richard Hovey, 1864 — 1900 
Julia Ward Howe, 18 19 — 
William Dean Howells, 1837 — 
Mary Woolsey Howland, 1832 — 1864 



. . 36 

• 309 

• 32 
76, 95, 124, 178 

251, 272, 311 



223 



Helen Hunt Jackson, 1831 — 1885 . 155, 167, 180, 183 
Margaret Thomson Janvier (** Margaret Vande- 

grift"), 1845— 282 

Sidney Lanier, 1842 — 1881 .... 215,268 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 — 1882 . 

63, 66, 71, 80, 92, 133, 135, 161, 190 
James Russell Lowell, 1819 — ^^91 

64,'i28,''i42^ 145^ 158, 162', 175^ 192'' 
Charles Henry Luders, 1858 — 1891 . . . 258 

William Tuckey Meredith, 1839 — .... no 
Lloyd MifHin, 1846 — . . . 229, 256, 257, 300 
Cincinnatus Hiner (Joaquin) Miller, 1841 — . . 199 
Louise Chandler Moulton, 1835 — . . . 236, 278 



Kate Putnam Osgood, 1841 - 



330 



301 



INDEX TO AUTHORS. 

PAGB 

Thomas William Parsons, i8 1 9 — 1892 

147, 185, 198, 201 
Edward Coate Pinkney, 1802 — 1828 . 12, 14, 25 

Edgar Allan Poe, 1809 — 1849 .... 

ID, 15, 21,26,31,34,38,45,57 



James Ryder Randall, 1839 — 
Lizette Woodworth Reese, 1860- 
Hiram Rich, 1832 — 
James Whitcomb Riley, 1853 — 



• "3 

. 224 

• 27s 
263, 280 



John Shaw, 1778 — 1809 3 

Edward Rowland Sill, 1841 — 1887 

205, 219, 238, 247, 283 
Harriet Prescott Spofford, 1835 — • • • ^Q^? 202 
Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1833 — . . 150, 194 

Richard Henry Stoddard, 1825 — 1903 127, 129, 153, 193 



John Banister Tabb, 1845 — 
Bayard Taylor, 1825— 1878 . 
Edith Matilda Thomas, 1854 — 
Maurice Thompson, 1844 — 1901 
Will Henry Thompson, 1848 — 
Henry David Thoreau, 1817 — 1862 
Henry Timrod, 1829 — 1867 
L. Frank Tooker, 1855 — 

Henry Van Dyke, 1852 — 

Walt Whitman, 18 1 9 — 1892 . c 
John Greenleaf Whittier, 1807 — 189 
Richard Henry Wilde, 1789 — 1847 

331 



235, 266, 267 
85, 119 

• 277 
. 294 

• 304 
94, 166 

104, 140 
. 260 

287, 291, 296 



, 117, 172, 173, IQ5 

69, 2,7, 130, 137 
4 



AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS. 

PAGH 

Byron Forceythe Willson, 1837 — 1867 • • i49» ^97 
George Edward Woodberry, 1855 — . 273, 289, 290 

Samuel Woodworth, 1785 — 1842 .... 8 



332 



.^ 



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